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Number Ten 



BIOGRAPHICAL 

STORIES 


NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 


WITH QUESTIONS 


HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
Boston : 4 Park Street 
New York: ii East 17TH Street 
STIjf JSibersttic Press, dambriticje 






PRICE FIFTEEN CENTS 





HAWTHORNE'S WORKS. 

fiilicrjsitic <CDition. 


jin entirely new Edition of the Works of Nathaniel 
Hawthorne, from new electrotype plates. With In- 
troductory Notes hy George P. Lathrop, author of 
“ A Study of Hawthorne." With eleven original full- 
page Etchings , and an excellent new Steel Portrait of 
Hawthorne. In twelve volumes , crown octavo , gilt top. 
Price of each volume , $2.00 ; the set , $24-00. 

This is a thoroughly satisfactory Library Edition of 
Hawthorne’s Works. Its typography and binding can- 
not fail to commend it to all lovers of tasteful books, 
as its contents commend it to all who can appreciate 
the best literature. 

1. Twice-Told Tales. 

2. Mosses from an Old Manse. 

3. The House of the Seven Gables, and The 

Snow-Image. 

4. The Wonder-Book,; Tanglewood Tales, and 

Grandfather^ ; Chair. 

5. The Scarlet Better, and The Blithedale 

Romance. 

6. The Marble Faun. 

7, 8. Our Old Home, and English Note-Books. 

9. American Note-Books. 

10. French and Italian Note-Books. 

11. The Dolliver Romance, Fanshawe, Septim- 

ius Felton, and, in an Appendix, The An- 
cestral Footstep. 

12. Tales and Sketches, Biographical Sketch, 

Index, etc. 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, 

4 Park Street, Bostox, Mass. 


/ 


ffljje Rttersfoe literature &zxk$ 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 


WITH QUESTIONS 


tf.0 



HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
Boston : 4 Park Street; New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 

(&\jt Utoer^i&e Cambrige 
1884 


\ c 



• Copyright, 1850, 

Br NATIIANIFL HAWTHORNE. 

Copyright, 1878, 

Br BOSE HAWTHORNE LATHROP. 
Copyright, 1S83, 

B\ HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All rights reserved. 


The Riverside Press, Cambridge * 
Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Houghton & Co. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


/ BENJAMIN WEST. 

* SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 
VSAMUEB JOHNSON. 


✓OLIVER CROMWELL. 

✓ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 
^4UEEN CHRISTINA. 



f 



This small volume and others of a similar character, 
from the same hand, have not been composed without a 
deep sense of responsibility. The author regards chil- 
dren as sacred, and would not, for the world, cast any- 
thing into the fountain of a young heart that might em- 
bitter and pollute its waters. And, even in point of the 
reputation to be aimed at, juvenile literature is as well 
worth cultivating as any other. The writer, if he succeed 
in pleasing his little readers, may hope to be remembered 
by them till their own old age, — a far longer period of 
literary existence than is generally attained by those who 
seek immortality from the judgments of full-grown men. 





BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


CHAPTER I. 


HEN Edward Temple was about eight or nine 
years old he was afflicted with a disorder of the 
eyes. It was so severe, and his sight was nat- 
urally so delicate, that the surgeon felt some apprehen- 
sions lest the boy should become totally blind. He 
therefore gave strict directions to keep him in a dark- 
ened chamber, with a bandage over his eyes. Not a ray 
of the blessed light of heaven could be suffered to visit 
the poor lad. 

This was a sad thing for Edward. It was just the 
same as if there were to be no more sunshine, nor moon- 
light, nor glow of the cheerful fire, nor light of lamps. 
A night had begun which was to continue perhaps for 
months, — a' longer and drearier night than that which 
voyagers are compelled to endure when their ship is ice- 
bound, throughout the winter, in the Arctic Ocean. His 
dear father and mother, his brother George, and the 
sweet face of little Emily Robinson must all vanish and 
leave him in utter darkness and solitude. Their voices 
and footsteps, it is true, would be heard around him ; he 
would feel his mother’s embrace and the kind pressure 


4 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


of all tlieir hands ; but still it would seem as if they were 
a thousand miles away. 

And then his studies, — they were to be entirely given 
up. This was another grievous trial ; for Edward’s 
memory hardly went back to the period when he had 
not known how to read. Many and many a holiday had 
he spent at his book, poring over its pages until the 
deepening twilight confused the print and made all the 
letters run into long words. Then would he press his 
hands across his eyes and wonder why they pained him 
so; and when the candles were lighted, what was the 
reason that they burned so dimly, like the moon in a 
foggy night ? Poor little fellow ! So far as his eyes 
were concerned he was already an old man, and needed 
a pair of spectacles almost as much as his own grand- 
father did. 

And now, alas ! the time was come when even grand- 
father’s spectacles could not have assisted Edward to 
read. After a few bitter tears, which only pained his 
eyes the more, the poor boy submitted to the surgeon’s 
orders. His eyes were bandaged, and, with his mother 
on one side and his little friend Emily on the other, he 
was led into a darkened chamber. 

“ Mother, I shall be very miserable ! ” said Edward, 
sobbing. 

“0 no, my 'dear child!” replied his mother, cheer- 
fully. “ Your eyesight was a precious gift of Heaven, it 
is true ; but you would do wrong to be miserable for its 
loss, even if there were no hope of regaining it. There 
are other .enjoyments besides what come to us through 
our eyes.” 

“ None that are worth having,” said Edward. 

“ Ah, but you will not think so long,” rejoined Mrs. 
Temple, with tenderness. “ All of us — your father, and 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


5 


myself, and George, and our sweet Emily — will try to 
find occupation and amusement for you. We will use 
all our eyes to make you happy. Will they not be better 
than a single pair ? ” 

“ I will sit by you all day long,” said Emily, in her 
low, sweet voice, putting her hand into that of Edward. 

“And so will I, Ned,” said George, his elder brother, 
“ school time and all, if my father will permit me.” 

Edward’s brother George was three or four years older 
than himself, — a fine, hardy lad, of a bold and ardent 
temper. He was the leader of his comrades in all their 
enterprises and amusements. As to his proficiency at 
study there was not much to be said. He had sense and 
ability enough to have made himself a scholar, but found 
so many pleasanter things to do that he seldom took hold 
of a book with his whole heart. So fond was George of 
boisterous sports and exercises that it was really a great 
token of affection and sympathy when he offered to sit all 
day long in a dark chamber with his poor brother Ed- 
ward. 

As for little Emily Robinson, she was the daughter of 
one of Mr. Temple’s dearest friends. Ever since her 
mother went to heaven (which was soon after Emily’s 
birth) the little girl had dwelt in the household where 
we now find her. Mr. and Mrs. Temple seemed to love 
her as well as their own children ; for they had no daugh- 
ter except Emily ; nor would the boys have known the 
blessing of a sister had not this gentle stranger come to 
teach them what it was. If I could show you Emily’s 
face, with her dark hair smoothed away from her forehead, 
you would be pleased with her look of simplicity and lov- 
ing kindness, but, might think that she was somewhat too 
grave for a child of seven years old. But you would not 
love her the less for that. 


6 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


So brother George and this loving little girl were to 
be Edward’s companions and playmates while he should 
be kept prisoner in the dark chamber. When the first 
bitterness of his grief was over he began to feel that 
there might be some comforts and enjoyments in life 
even for a boy whose eyes were covered with a band- 
age. 

“ I thank you, dear mother,” said he, with only a few 
sobs ; “ and you, Emily ; and you too, George. You 
will all be very kind to me, I know. And my father, — 
will not he come and see me every day ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear boy,” said Mr. Temple ; for, though 
invisible to Edward, he was standing close beside him. 
“ I will spend some hours of every day with you. And 
as I have often amused you by relating stories and 
adventures while you had the use of your eyes, I can do 
the same now that you are unable to read. Will this 
please you, Edward ? ” 

“ 0, very much,” replied Edward. 

‘‘Well, then,” said his father, “this evening we will 
begin the series of Biographical Stories which I promised 
you some time ago.” 





CHAPTER II. 

HEN evening came, Mr. Temple found Edward 
considerably revived in spirits and disposed to 
be resigned to his misfortune. Indeed, the fig- 
ure of the boy, as it was dimly seen by the firelight, 
reclining in a well-stuffed easy-chair, looked so very 
comfortable that many people might have envied him. 
When a man’s eyes have grown old with gazing at the 
ways of the world, it does not seem such a terrible mis- 
fortune to have them bandaged. 

Little Emily Robinson sat by Edward’s side with the 
air of an accomplished nurse. As well as the duskiness 
of the chamber would permit she watched all his motions 
and each varying expression of his face, and tried to 
anticipate her patient’s wishes before his tongue could 
utter them. Yet it was noticeable that the child mani- 
fested an indescribable awe and disquietude whenever 
she fixed her eyes on the bandage; for, to her simple 
and affectionate heart, it seemed as if her dear friend 
Edward was separated from her because she could not 
see his eyes. A friend’s eyes tell us many things which 
could never be spoken by the tongue. 

George, likewise, looked awkward and confused, as 
stout and healthy boys are accustomed to do in the soci- 
ety of the sick or afflicted. Never having felt pain or 
sorrow, they are abashed, from not knowing how to sym- 
pathize with the sufferings of others. 



8 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

“Well, my dear Edward,” inquired Mrs. Temple, “is 
your chair quite comfortable? and lias your little nurse 
provided for all your wants ? If so, your lather is ready 
to begin his stories.” 

“ 0, I am very well now,” answered Edward, with a 
faint smile. “ And my ears have not forsaken me, though 
my eyes are good for nothing. So pray, dear father, 
begin.” 

It was Mr. Temple’s design to tell the children a series 
of true stories, the incidents of which should be taken 
from the childhood and early life of eminent people. 
Thus he hoped to bring George, and Edward, and Emily 
into closer acquaintance with the famous persons who 
have lived in other times by showing that they also had 
been children once. Although Mr. Temple was scrupu- 
lous to relate nothing but what was founded on fact, yet 
he felt himself at liberty to clothe the incidents of his 
narrative in a new coloring, so that his auditors might 
understand them the better. 

“ My first story,” said he, “ shall be about a painter of 
pictures.” 

“ Dear me ! ” cried Edward, with a sigh. “ I am afraid 
I shall never look at pictures any more.” 

“ We will hope for the best,” answered his father. “ In 
the mean time, you must try to see things within your 
own mind.” 

Mr. Temple then began the following story : — 

BENJAMIN WEST. 

[Born 1738. Died 1820.J 

In the year 1738 there came into the world, in the 
town of Springfield, Pennsylvania, a Quaker infant, from 
whom his parents and neighbors looked for wonderful 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


9 


things. A famous preacher of the Society of Friends had 
prophesied about little Ben, and foretold that he would 
be one of the most remarkable characters that had ap- 
peared on the earth since the days of William Penn. On 
this account the eyes of many people were fixed upon the 
boy. Some of his ancestors had won great renown in the 
old wars of England and France; but it was probably 
expected that Ben would become a preacher, and would 
convert multitudes to the peaceful doctrines of the Qua- 
kers. Friend West and his wife were thought to be very 
fortunate in having such a son. 

Little Ben lived to the ripe age of six years without 
doing anything that was worthy to be told in history. 
But one summer afternoon, in his seventh year, his mother 
put a fan into his hand and bade him keep the flies away 
from the face of a little babe who lay fast asleep in the 
cradle. She then left the room. 

The boy waved the fan to and fro and drove away the 
buzzing flies whenever they had the impertinence to 
come near the baby’s face. When they had all flown out 
of the window or into distant parts of the room, he bent 
over the cradle and delighted himself with gazing at the 
sleeping infant. It was, indeed, a very pretty sight. 
The little personage in the cradle slumbered peacefully, 
with its waxen hands under its chin, looking as full of 
blissful quiet as if angels were singing lullabies in its 
ear. Indeed, it must have been dreaming about heaven; 
for, while Ben stooped over the cradle, the little baby 
smiled. 

“ How beautiful she looks ! ” said Ben to himself. 
“ What a pity it is that such a pretty smile should not 
last forever ! ” 

Now Ben, at this period of his life, had never heard 
of that wonderful art by which a look, that appears and 


10 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


vanishes in a moment, may be made to last for hundreds 
of years. But, though nobody had told him of such an 
art, he may be said to have invented it for himself. On 
a table near at hand there were pens and paper, and ink 
of two colors, black and red. The boy seized a pen and 
sheet of paper, and, kneeling down beside the cradle, 
began to draw a likeness of the infant. While he was 
busied in this manner he heard his mother’s step approach- 
ing, and hastily tried to conceal the paper. 

“ Benjamin, my son, what hast thou been doing ? ” 
inquired his mother, observing marks of confusion in his 
face. 

At first Ben was unwilling to tell; for he felt as if 
there might be something wrong in stealing the baby’s 
face and putting it upon a sheet of paper. However, 
as his mother insisted, he finally put the sketch into her 
hand, and then hung his head, expecting to be well 
scolded. But when the good lady saw what was on the 
paper, in lines of red and black ink, she uttered a scream 
of surprise and joy. 

“ Bless me ! ” cried she. “ It is a picture of little 
Sally ! ” 

And then she threw her arms round our friend Ben- 
jamin, and kissed him so tenderly that he never after- 
wards was afraid to show his performances to his mother. 

As Ben grew older, he was observed to take vast delight 
in looking at the hues and forms of nature. For instance, 
he was greatly pleased with the blue violets of spring, the 
wild roses of summer, and the scarlet cardinal-flowers of 
early autumn. In the decline of the year, when the 
woods were variegated with all the colors of the rainbow, 
Ben seemed to desire nothing better than to gaze at 
them from morn till night. The purple and golden 
clouds of sunset were a joy to him. And he was con- 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


11 


tinually endeavoring to draw the figures of trees, men, 
mountains, houses, cattle, geese, ducks, and turkeys, 
with a piece of chalk, on barn doors or on the floor. 

In these old times the Mohawk Indians were still nu- 
merous in Pennsylvania. Every year a party of them 
used to pay a visit to Springfield, because the wigwams 
of their ancestors had formerly stood there. These wild 
men grew fond of little Ben, and made him very happy 
by giving him some of the red and yellow paint with 
which they were accustomed to adorn their faces. His 
mother, too, presented him with a piece of indigo. Thus 
he now had three colors, — red, blue, and yellow, — and 
could manufacture green by mixing the yellow with the 
blue. Our friend Ben was overjoyed, and doubtless 
showed his gratitude to the Indians by taking their like- 
nesses in the strange dresses which they wore, with feath- 
ers, tomahawks, and bows and arrows. 

But all this time the young artist had no paint-brushes ; 
nor were there any to be bought, unless he had sent to 
Philadelphia on purpose. However, he was a very in- 
genious boy, and resolved to manufacture paint-brushes 
for himself. With this design he laid hold upon — what 
do you think ? Why, upon a respectable old black cat, 
who was sleeping quietly by the fireside. * 

“ Puss/’ said little Ben to the cat, “ pray give me some 
of the fur from the tip of thy tail ? ” 

Though he addressed the black cat so civilly, yet Ben 
was determined to have the fur whether she were willing 
or not. Puss, who had no great zeal for the fine arts, 
would have resisted if she could; but the boy was 
armed with his mother’s scissors, and very dexterously 
clipped off fur enough to make a paint-brush. This was 
of so much use to him that he applied to Madame Puss 
again and again, until her warm coat of fur had become 


12 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


so thin and ragged that she could hardly keep comfortable 
through the winter. Poor thing! she was forced to 
creep close into the chimney-corner, and eyed Ben with a 
very rueful physiognomy. But Ben considered it more 
necessary that he should have paint-brushes than that 
puss should be warm. 

About this period friend West received a visit from 
Mr. Pennington, a merchant of Philadelphia, who was 
likewise a member of the Society of Friends. The vis- 
itor, oil entering the parlor, was surprised to see it orna- 
mented with drawings of Indian chiefs, and of birds with 
beautiful plumage, and of the wild flowers of the forest. 
Nothing of the kind was ever seen before in the habita- 
tion of a Quaker farmer. 

“ Why, Friend West,” exclaimed the Philadelphia mer- 
chant, “ what has possessed thee to cover thy walls with 
all these pictures ? Where on earth didst thou get 
them ? ” 

Then Friend West explained that all these pictures 
were painted by little Ben, with no better materials than 
red and yellow ochre and a piece of indigo, and with 
brushes made of the black cat’s fur. 

“Verily,” said Mr. Pennington, “the boy hath a won- 
derful faculty. • Some of our friends might look upon 
these matters as vanity ; but little Benjamin appears to 
have been bom a painter ; and Providence is wiser than 
we are.” 

The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and 
evidently considered him a wonderful boy. When his 
parents saw how much their son’s performances were ad- 
mired, they, no doubt, remembered the prophecy of the 
old Quaker preacher respecting Ben’s future eminence. 
Yet they could not understand how he was ever to be- 
come a very great and useful man merely by making 
pictures. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


13 


One evening, shortly after Mr. Pennington’s return to 
Philadelphia, a package arrived at Springfield, directed 
to our little friend Ben. 

“ What can it possibly be ? ” thought Ben, when it 
was put into his hands. “ Who can have sent me such a 
great square package as this ? ” 

On taking off the thick brown paper which enveloped 
it, behold ! there was a paint-box, with a great many 
cakes of paint, and brushes of various sizes. It was the 
gift of good Mr. Pennington. There were likewise sev- 
eral squares of canvas such as artists use for painting 
pictures upon, and, in addition to all these treasures, 
some beautiful engravings of landscapes. These were 
the first pictures that Ben had ever seen, except those of 
his own drawing. 

What a joyful evening was this for the little artist ! 
At bedtime he put the paint-box under his pillow, and 
got hardly a wink of sleep ; for, all night long, his fancy 
was painting pictures in the darkness. In the morning 
he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the 
dinner-hour ; nor did he give himself time to eat more 
than a mouthful or two of food before he hurried back to 
the garret again. The next day, and the next, he was 
just as busy as ever ; until at last his mother thought it 
time to ascertain what he was about. She accordingly 
followed him to the garret. 

On opening the door, the first object that presented 
itself to her eyes was our friend Benjamin, giving the last 
touches to a beautiful picture. He had copied portions 
of two of the engravings, and made one picture out of 
both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beau- 
tiful than the originals. The grass, the trees, the water, 
the sky, and the houses were all painted in their proper 
colors. There, too, were the sunshine and the shadow, 
looking as natural as life.. 


14 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


“My dear child/thou hast done wonders ! ” cried his 
mother. 

The good lady was in an ecstasy of delight. And well 
might she be proud of her boy ; for there were touches 
in this picture which old artists, who had spent a lifetime 
in the business, need not have been ashamed of. Many 
a year afterwards, this wonderful production was exhib- 
ited at the Royal Academy in London. 

When Benjamin was quite a large lad he was sent to 
school at Philadelphia. Not long after his arrival he had 
a slight attack of fever, which confined him to his bed. 
The light, which would otherwise have disturbed him, 
was excluded from his chamber by means of closed 
wooden shutters. At first it appeared so totally dark 
that Ben could' not distinguish any object in the room. 
By degrees, however, his eyes became accustomed to the 
scanty light. 

He was lying on his back, looking up towards the ceil- 
ing, when suddenly he beheld the dim apparition of a 
white cow moving slowly over his head ! Ben started, 
and rubbed his eyes in the greatest amazement. 

“ What can this mean ? ” thought he. 

The white cow disappeared ; and next came several 
pigs, which trotted along ‘the ceiling and vanished into 
the darkness of the chamber. So lifelike did these grunt- 
ers look that Ben almost seemed to hear them squeak. 

“Well, this is very strange ! ” said Ben to himself. 

When the people of the house came to see him, Benja- 
min told them of the marvellous circumstance which had 
occurred. But they would not believe him. 

“ Benjamin, thou art surely out of thy senses ! ” cried 
they. “ How is it possible that a white cow and a litter 
of pigs should be visible on the ceiling of a dark cham- 
ber?” 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


15 


Ben, however, had great confidence in his own eye- 
sight, and was determined to search the mystery to the 
bottom. For this purpose, when he was again left alone, 
he got out of bed and examined the w N indow-shutters. 
He soon perceived a small chink in one of them, through 
which a ray of light found its passage and , rested upon 
the ceiliug. Now, the science of optics will inform us 
that the pictures of the white cow and the pigs, and of 
other objects out of doors, came into the dark chamber 
through this narrow chink, and were painted over Benja- 
min’s head. It is greatly to his credit that he discovered 
the scientific principle of this phenomenon, and by means 
of it constructed a camera-obscura, or magic -lantern, out 
of a hollow box. This was of great advantage to him in 
drawing landscapes. 

Well, time went on, and Benjamin continued to draw 
and paint pictures until he had now reached the age 
when it was proper that he should choose a business for 
life. His father and mother were in considerable per- 
plexity about him. According to the ideas of the Qua- 
kers, it is not right for people to spend their lives in oc- 
cupations that are of no real and sensible advantage to 
the world. Now, what advantage could the world expect 
from Benjamin’s pictures? This was a difficult ques- 
tion ; and, in order to set their minds at rest, his parents 
determined to consult the preachers and wise men of 
their society. Accordingly, they all assembled in the 
meeting-house, and discussed the matter from beginning 
to end. 

Finally they came to a very wise decision. It seemed 
so evident that Providence had created Benjamin to be 
a painter, and had given him abilities which would be 
thrown away in any other business, that the Quakers 
resolved not to oppose his inclination. They even ac- 


16 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


knowledged that the sight of a beautiful picture might 
convey instruction to the mind and might benefit the 
heart as much as a good book or a wise discourse. They 
therefore committed the youth to the direction of God, 
being well assured that he best knew what was his proper 
sphere of usefulness. The old men laid their hands upon 
Benjamin’s head and gave him their blessing, and the 
women kissed him affectionately. All consented that he 
should go forth into the world and learn to be a painter 
by studying the best pictures of ancient and modem 
times. 

So our friend Benjamin left the dwelling of his parents, 
and his native woods and streams, and the good Quakers 
of Springfield, and the Indians who had given him his 
first colors ; he left all the places and persons whom he 
had hitherto known, and returned to them no more. He 
went first to Philadelphia, and afterwards to Europe. 
Here he was noticed by many great people, but retained 
all the sobriety and simplicity which he had learned among 
the Quakers. It is related of him, that, when he was 
presented at the court of the Prince of Parma, he kept his 
hat upon his head even while kissing the Prince’s liaod. 

When he was twenty-five years old he went to London 
and established himself there as an artist. In due course 
of time he acquired great fame by his pictures, and w r as 
made chief painter to King George III. and president of 
the Royal Academy of Arts. When the Quakers of 
Pennsylvania heard of his success, they felt that the 
prophecy of the old preacher as to little Ben’s future 
eminence was now accomplished. It is true, they shook 
their heads at his pictures of battle and bloodshed, such 
as the Heath of Wolfe, thinking that these terrible scenes 
should not be held up to the admiration of the world. 

But they approved of the great paintings in which he 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


17 


represented the miracles and sufferings of the Redeemer 
of mankind. King George employed him to adorn a 
large and beautiful chapel at Windsor Castle with pic- 
tures of these sacred subjects. He likewise painted a 
magnificent picture of Christ Healing the Sick, which he 
gave to the hospital at Philadelphia. It was exhibited 
to the public, and produced so much profit that the 
hospital was enlarged so as to accommodate thirty more 
patients. If Benjamin West had done no other good 
deed than this, yet it would have been enough to en- 
title him to an honorable remembrance forever. At this 
very day there are thirty poor people in the hospital 
who owe all their comforts to that same picture. 

We shall mention only a single incident more. The 
picture of Christ Healing the Sick was exhibited at the 
Royal Academy in London, where it covered a vast space 
and displayed a multitude of figures as large as life. On 
the wall, close beside this admirable picture, hung a 
small and faded landscape. It was the same that little 
Ben had painted in his father’s garret, after receiving the 
paint-box and engravings from good Mr. Pennington. 

He lived many years in peace and honor, aud died in 
1820, at the age of eighty-two. The story of his life is 
almost as wonderful as a fairy tale ; for there are few 
stranger transformations than that of a little Unknown 
Quaker boy, in the wilds of America, into the most dis- 
tinguished English painter of his day. Let us each make 
the best use of our natural abilities as Benjamin West 
did; and, with the blessing of Providence, we shall 
arrive at some good end. As for fame, it is but little 
matter whether we acquire it or not. 

“ Thank you for the story, my dear father,” said Ed' 
ward, when it was finished. “Do you know that it 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


seems as if I could see things without the help of my 
eyes ? While you were speaking I have seen little 
Ben, and the baby in its cradle, and the Indians, and the 
white cow, and the pigs, and kind Mr. Pennington, and 
all the good old Quakers, almost as plainly as if they 
were in this very room.” 

“It is because your attention was not disturbed by 
outward objects,” replied Mr. Temple. “People, when 
deprived of sight, often have more vivid ideas than those 
who possess the perfect use of their eyes. I will venture 
to say that George has not attended to the story quite so 
closely.” 

“ No, indeed,” said George ; “ but it was a very pretty 
story for all that. How I should have laughed to see 
Ben making a paint-brush out of the black cat’s tail ! I 
intend to try the experiment with Emily’s kitten.” 

“ O no, no, George ! ” cried Emily, earnestly. “ My 
kitten cannot spare her tail.” 

Edward being an invalid, it was now time for him to 
retire to bed. When the family bade him good night 
he turned his face towards them, looking very loath hs 
part. 

“ I shall not know when morning comes,” said he, 
sorrowfully. “ And besides, I want to hear your voices 
all the time ; for, when nobody is speaking, it seems as if 
I were alone in a dark world.” 

“You must have faith, my dear child,” replied his 
mother. “Faith is the soul’s eyesight; and when we 
possess it the world is never dark nor lonely.” 



CHAPTER III. 

HE next day Edward began to get accustomed 
to his new condition of life. Once, indeed, 
when his parents were out of the way and only 
ras left to take care of him, he could not resist 
the temptation to thrust aside the bandage and peep at 
the anxious face of his little nurse. But, in spite of the 
dimness of the chamber, the experiment caused him so 
much pain that he felt no inclination to take another 
look. So, with a deep 'sigh, he resigned himself to his 
fate. 

“ Emily, pray talk to me ! ” said he, somewhat impa- 
tiently. 

Now, Emily was a remarkably silent little girl, and did 
not possess that liveliness of disposition which renders 
some children such excellent companions. She seldom 
laughed, and had not the faculty of making many words 
about small matters. But the love and earnestness of her 
heart taught her how to amuse poor Edward in his dark- 
ness. She put her knitting-work into his hands. 

“ You must learn how to knit,” said she. 

“What ! without using my eyes ? ” cried Edward. 

“ I can knit with my eyes shut,” replied Emily. 

Then with her own little hands she guided Edward’s 
fingers while he set about this new occupation. So awk- 



Emily 


20 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


ward were liis ffrst attempts that any other little girl would 
have laughed heartily. But Emily preserved her gravity, 
and showed the utmost patience in taking up the innu- 
merable stitches which he let down. In the course of 
an hour or two his progress was quite encouraging. 

When evening came, Edward acknowledged that the 
day had been far less wearisome than he anticipated. 
But he was glad, nevertheless, when his father and 
mother, and George and Emily, all took their seats 
around his chair. He put out his hand to grasp each of 
their hands, aud smiled with a very bright expression 
upon his lips. 

“ Now I can see you all with my mind’s eye,” said he. 
“ And now, father, pray tell us another story.” 

So Mr. Temple began. 

SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 

[Born 1642. Died 1727.] 

On Christmas day, in the year 1642, Isaac Newton was 
born at the small village of Woolsthorpe, in England. 
Little did his mother think, when she beheld her new- 
born babe, that he was destined to explain many matters 
which had been a mystery ever since the creation of the 
world. 

Isaac’s father being dead, Mrs. Newton was married 
again to a clergyman, and went to reside at North 
Witham. Her son was left to the care of his good old 
grandmother, who was very kind to him and sent him to 
school. In his early years Isaac did not appear to be a 
very bright scholar, but was chiefly remarkable for his 
ingenuity in all mechanical occupations. He had a set 
of little tools and saws of various sizes manufactured by 
himself. With the aid of these Isaac contrived to make 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. * 21 

many curious articles, at which he worked with so much 
skill that he seemed to have been born with a saw or 
chisel in hand. 

The neighbors looked with vast admiration at the 
things which Isaac manufactured. And his old grand- 
mother, I suppose, was never weary of talking about 
him. 

“ He ’ll make a capital workman one of these days,” 
she would probably say. “No fear but what Isaac will 
do well in the world and be a rich man before he dies.” 

It is amusing to conjecture what were the anticipa- 
tions of his grandmother and the neighbors about Isaac’s 
future life. Some of them, perhaps, fancied that he 
would make beautiful furniture of mahogany, rosewood, 
or polished oak, inlaid with ivory and ebony, and magni- 
ficently gilded. And then, doubtless, all the rich people 
would purchase these fine things to adorn their drawing- 
rooms. Others probably thought that little Isaac was 
destined to be an architect, and would build splendid 
mansions for the nobility and gentry, and churches too, 
with the tallest steeples that had ever been seen in Eng- 
land. 

Some of his friends, no doubt, advised Isaac’s grand- 
mother to apprentice him to a clock-maker ; for, besides 
his mechanical skill, the boy seemed to have a taste for 
mathematics, which would be very useful to him in that 
profession. And then, in due time, Isaac would set up 
for himself, and would manufacture curious clocks, like 
those that contain sets of dancing figures, which issue 
from the dial-plate when the hour is struck ; or like those 
where a ship sails across the face of the clock, and is 
seen tossing up and down on the waves as often as the . 
pendulum vibrates. 

Indeed, there was some ground for supposing that 


22 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


Isaac would devote himself to the manufacture of clocks ; 
since he had already made one, of a kind which nobody 
had ever heard of before. It was set a-going, not by 
wheels and weights like other clocks, but by the drop- 
ping of water. This was an object of great wonderment 
to all the people round about ; and it must be confessed 
that there are few boys, or men either, who could con- 
trive to tell what o’clock it is by means of a bowl of 
water. 

Besides the water-clock, Isaac made a sundial. Thus 
his grandmother was never at a loss to know the hour ; 
for the water-clock would tell it in the shade, and the dial 
in the sunshine. The sundial is said to be still in exist- 
ence at Woolsthorpe, on the corner of the house where 
Isaac dwelt. If so, it must have marked the passage of 
every sunny hour that has elapsed since Isaac Newton 
was a boy. It marked all the famous moments of his life ; it 
marked the hour of his death ; and still the sunshine creeps 
slowly over it, as regularly as when Isaac first set it up. 

Yet we must not say that the sundial has lasted longer 
than its maker; for Isaac Newton will exist long after 
the dial — yea, and long after the sun itself — shall have 
crumbled to decay. 

Isaac possessed a wonderful faculty of acquiring knowl- 
edge by the simplest means. For instance, what method 
do you suppose he took to find out the strength of the 
wind ? You will never guess how the boy could compel 
that unseen, inconstant, and ungovernable wonder, the 
wind, to tell him the measure of its strength. Yet 
nothing can be more simple. He jumped against the 
wind ; and by the length of his jump he could calculate 
the force of a gentle breeze, a brisk gale, or a tempest. 
Thus, even in his boyish sports, he was continually 
searching out the secrets of philosophy, 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


23 


Not far from his grandmother’s residence there was 
a windmill which operated on a new plan. Isaac was in 
the habit of going thither frequently, and would spend 
whole hours in examining its various parts. While the 
mill was at rest he pried into its internal machinery. 
When its broad sails were set in motion by the wind, he 
watched the process by which the mill-stones were made 
to revolve and crush the grain that was put into the 
hopper. After gaining a thorough knowledge of its con- 
struction he was observed to be unusually busy with his 
tools. 

It was not long before his grandmother and all the 
neighborhood knew what Isaac had been about. He had 
constructed a model of the windmill. Though not so 
large, I suppose, as one of the box traps which boys set 
to catch squirrels, yet every part of the mill and its ma- 
chinery was complete. Its little sails were neatly made 
of linen, and whirled round very swiftly when the mill 
was placed in a draught of air. Even a puff of wind 
from Isaac’s mouth or from a pair of bellows was suffi- 
cient to set the sails in motion. And, what was most 
curious, if a handful of grains of wheat were put into 
the little hopper, they would soon be converted into 
snow-white flour. 

Isaac’s playmates were enchanted with his new wind- 
mill. They thought that nothing so pretty and so won- 
derful had ever been seen in the whole world. 

“ But, Isaac,” said one of them, “ you have forgotten 
one thing that belongs to a mill.” 

“ What is that ? ” asked Isaac ; for he supposed that, 
from the roof of the mill to its foundation, he had forgot- 
ten nothing. 

“ Why, where is the miller ? ” said his friend. 

“ That is true, — I must look out for one,” said Isaac ; 


24 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


and he set himself to consider how the deficiency should 
be supplied. 

He might easily have made the miniature figure of a 
man ; but then it would not have been able to move 
about and perform the duties of a miller. As Captain 
Lemuel Gulliver had not yet discovered the island of 
Lilliput, Isaac did not know that there were little men in 
the world whose size was just suited to his windmill. It 
so happened, however, that a mouse had just been caught 
in the trap ; and, as no other miller could be found, Mr. 
Mouse was appointed to that important office. The new 
miller made a very respectable appearance in his dark- 
gray coat. To be sure, he had not a very good character 
for honesty, and was suspected of sometimes stealing a 
portion of the grain which was given him to grind. But 
perhaps some two-legged millers are quite as dishonest as 
this small quadruped. 

As Isaac grew older, it was found that he had far more 
important matters in his mind than the manufacture of 
toys like the little windmill. All day long, if left to 
himself, he was either absorbed in thought or engaged in 
some book of mathematics or natural philosophy. At 
night, I think it probable, he looked up with reverential 
curiosity to the stars, and wondered whether they were 
worlds like our own, and how great was their distance 
from the earth, and what was the power that kept them 
in their courses. Perhaps, even so early in life, Isaac 
Newton felt a presentiment that he should be able, here- 
after, to answer all these questions. 

When Isaac was fourteen years old, his mother’s sec- 
ond husband being now dead, she wished her son to leave 
school and assist her in managing the farm at Wools- 
thorpe. For a year or two, therefore, he tried to turn 
his attention to farming. But his mind was so bent on 


biographical stories. 25 

becoming a scholar that his mother sent him back to 
school, and afterwards to the University of Cambridge. 

I have now finished my anecdotes of Isaac Newton’s 
boyhood. My story w r ould be far too long were I to 
mention all the splendid discoveries which he made after 
he came to be a man. He was the first that found out 
the nature of light ; for, before his day, nobody could tell 
what the sunshine was composed of. You remember, I sup- 
pose, the story of an apple’s falling on his head, and thus 
leading him to discover the force of gravitation, which 
keeps the heavenly bodies in their courses. When he 
had once got hold of this idea, he never permitted his 
mind to rest, until lie had searched out all the laws by 
which the planets are guided through the sky. This he 
did as thoroughly as if he had gone up among the stars 
and tracked them in their orbits. The boy had found 
out the mechanism of a windmill ; the man explained to 
his fellow-men the mechanism of the universe. j 

While making these researches he was accustomed to 
spend night after night in a lofty tower, gazing at the 
heavenly bodies through a telescope. His mind "was 
lifted far above the things of this world. He may be 
said, indeed, to have spent the greater part of his life in 
worlds that lie thousands and millions of miles away ; for 
where the thoughts and the heart are, there is our true 
existence. 

Did you never hear the story of Newton and his little 
dog Diamond ? One day, when he was fifty years old, 
and had been hard at work more than twenty years 
studying the theory of light, he went out of his chamber, 
leaving his little dog asleep before the fire. On the 
table lay a heap of manuscript papers, containing all the 
discoveries which Newton had made during those twenty 
years. When his master was gone, up rose little Dia- 


26 - 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


mond, jumped upon the table, and overthrew the lighted 
candle. The papers immediately caught fire. 

Just as the destruction was completed Newton opened 
the chamber door, and perceived that the labors of 
twenty years were reduced to a heap of ashes. There 
stood little Diamond, the’ author of all the mischief. Al- 
most any other man would have sentenced the dog to 
immediate death. But Newton patted him on the head 
with his usual kindness, although grief was at his heart. 

“ 0 Diamond, Diamond,” exclaimed he, “ thou little 
knowest the mischief thou hast done ! ” 

This incident affected his health and spirits for some 
time afterwards ; but, from his conduct towards the little 
dog, you may judge what was the sweetness of his temper. 

Newton lived to be a very old man, and acquired great 
renown, and was made a member of Parliament, and re- 
ceived the honor of knighthood from the king. But he 
cared little for earthly fame and honors, and felt no pride 
in the vastness of his knowledge. All that he had learned 
only made him feel how little he knew in comparison to 
what remained to be known. 

“ I seem to myself like a child,” observed he, “ playing 
on the sea-shore, and picking up here and there a curious 
shell or a pretty pebble, while the boundless ocean of 
Truth lies undiscovered before me.” 

At last, in 1727, when he was fourscore and five years 
old, Sir Isaac Newton died, — or rather, he ceased to 
live on earth. We may be permitted to believe that he 
is still searching out the infinite wisdom and goodness of 
the Creator as earnestly, and with even more success, 
than while his spirit animated a mortal body. He has 
left a fame behind him which will be as endurable as if 
his name were written in letters of light formed by ths 
stars upon the midnight sky. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


27 


“ I love to hear about mechanical contrivances, such 
as the water-clock and the little windmill,” remarked 
George. “I suppose, if Sir Isaac Newton had only 
thought of it, he might have found out the steam-engine, 
and railroads, and all the other famous inventions that 
have come into use since his day.” 

“Very possibly he might,” replied Mr. Temple; “ and 
no doubt a great many people would think it more useful 
to manufacture steam-engines than to search out the sys- 
tem of the universe. Other great astronomers besides 
Newton have been endowed with mechanical genius. 
There was David Rittenhouse, an American, — he made 
a perfect little water-mill when he was only seven or 
eight years old. But this sort of ingenuity is but a mere 
trifle in comparison with the other talents of such men.” 

“It must have deen beautiful,” said Edward, “to 
spend whole nights in a high tower as Newton did, 
gazing at the stars, and the comets, and the meteors. 
But what would Newton have done had he been blind? 
or if his eyes had been no better than mine ? ” 

“Why, even then, my dear child,” observed Mrs. 
Temple, “ he would have found out some way of enlight- 
ening his mind and of elevating his soul. But come; 
little Emily is waiting to bid you good night. You must 
go to sleep and dream of seeing all our faces.” 

“ But how sad it will be when I awake ! ” murmured 
Edward. 



t 



CHAPTER IV. 



N the course of the next day the harmony of our 
little family was disturbed by something like a 
quarrel between George and Edward. 

The former, though he loved his brother dearly, had 
found it quite too great a sacrifice of his own enjoyments 
to spend all his play-time in a darkened chamber. Ed- 
ward, on the other hand, was inclined to be despotic. 
He felt as if his bandaged eyes entitled him to demand 
that everybody who enjoyed the blessing of sight should 
contribute to his comfort and amusement. He therefore 
insisted that George, instead of going out to play at foot- 
ball, should join with himself and Emily in a game of 
questions and answers. 

George resolutely refused, and ran out of the house. 
He did not revisit Edward’s chamber till the evening. 


when he stole in, looking confused, yet somewhat sullen, 
and sat down beside his father’s chair. It was evident, 
by a motion of Edward’s head and a slight trembling of 
his lips, that he was aware of George’s entrance, though 
his footsteps had been almost inaudible. Emily, with her 
serious and earnest little face, looked from one to the 
other, as if she longiSf^ be a messenger of peace be- 
tween them. 

Mr. Temple, without seeming to notice any of these 
circumstances, began a story. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


29 


SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

[Born 1709. Died 1784J 

“ Sam,” said Mr. Michael Johnson, of Lichfield, one 
morning, “ I am very feeble and ailing to-day. Yon 
must go to Uttoxeter in my stead, and tend the book- 
stall in the market-place there / 5 

This was spoken above a hundred years ago, by an 
elderly man, who had once been a thriving bookseller 
at Lichfield, in England. Being now in reduced circum- 
stances, he was forced to go every market-day and sell 
books at a stall, in the neighboring village of Uttoxeter. 

His son, to whom Mr. Johnson spoke, was a great boy, 
of very singular aspect. He had an intelligent face ; but 
it was seamed and distorted by a scrofulous humor, which 
affected his eyes so badly that sometimes he was almost 
blind. Owing to the same cause his head would often 
shake with a tremulous motion as if he were afflicted 
with the palsy. When Sam was an infant, the famous 
Queen Anne had tried to cure him of this disease by lay- 
ing her royal hands upon his head. But though the 
touch of a king or queen was supposed to be a certain 
remedy for scrofula, it produced no good effect upon 
Sam Johnson. 

At the time which we speak of the poor lad was not 
very well dressed, and wore shoes from which his toes 
peeped out ; for his old father had barely the means of 
supporting his wife and children. But, poor as the 
family were, young Sam Johnson had as much pride as 
any nobleman’s son in England. The fact was, he felt 
conscious of uncommon sense and ability, which, in his 
own opinion, entitled him to great respect from the 
world. Perhaps he would have been glad if grown peo- 
ple had treated him as reverentially as his schoolfellows 


30 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


did. Three of them were accustomed to come for him 
every morning ; and while he sat upon the back of one, 
the two others supported him on each side; and thus 
he rode to school in triumph. 

Being a personage of so much importance, Sam could 
not bear the idea of standing all day in Uttoxeter mar- 
ket offering books to the rude and ignorant country 
people. Doubtless he felt the more reluctant on account 
of his shabby clothes, and the disorder of his eyes, and 
the tremulous motion of his head. 

When Mr. Michael Johnson spoke, Sam pouted and 
made an indistinct grumbling in his throat ; then he 
looked his old father in the face and answered him 
loudly and deliberately. 

“ Sir,” said he, “ I will not go to Uttoxeter market ! ” 

Mr. Johnson had seen a great deal of the lad’s obsti- 
nacy ever since his birth ; and while Sam was younger, 
the old gentleman had probably used the rod whenever 
occasion seemed to require. But he was now too feeble 
and too much out of spirits to contend with this stub- 
born and violent-tempered boy. He therefore gave up 
the point at once, and prepared to go to Uttoxeter 
himself. 

“Well, Sam,” said Mr. Johnson, as he took his hat 
and staff, “ if for the sake of your foolish pride you can 
suffer your poor sick father to stand all day in the noise 
and confusion of the market when he ought to be in his 
bed, I have no more to say. But you will think of this, 
Sam, when I am dead and gone.” 

So the poor old man (perhaps with a tear in his eye, 
but certainly with sorrow in his heart) set forth towards 
Uttoxeter. The gray -haired, feeble, melancholy Michael 
Johnson ! How sad a thing it was that he should be 
forced to go, in his sickness, and toil for the support of 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


81 


an ungrateful son who was too proud to do anything for 
his father, or his mother, or himself ! Sam looked after 
Mi-. Johnson with a sullen countenance till he was out 
of sight. 

But when the old man’s figure, as he went stooping 
along the street, was no more to be seen, the boy’s heart 
began to smite him. He had a vivid imagination, and it 
tormented him with the image of his father standing in 
the market-place of Uttoxeter and offering his books to 
the noisy crowd around him. Sam seemed to behold 
him arranging his literary merchandise upon the stall 
in such a way as was best calculated to attract notice. 
Here was Addison’s Spectator, a long row of little vol- 
umes; here was Pope’s translation of the Iliad and 
Odyssey; here were Dryden’s poems, or those of Prior. 
Here, likewise, were Gulliver’s Travels, and a variety of 
little gilt-covered children’s books, such as Tom Thumb, 
Jack the Giant Queller, Mother Goose’s Melodies, and 
others which our great-grandparents used to read in 
their childhood. And here were sermons for the pious, 
and pamphlets for the politicians, and ballads, some merry 
and some dismal ones, for the country people to sing. 

Sam, in imagination, saw his father offer these books, 
pamphlets, and ballads, now to the rude yeomen who 
perhaps could not read a word; now to the country 
squires, who cared for nothing but to hunt hares and 
foxes; now to the children, who chose to spend their 
coppers for sugar-plums or gingerbread rather than for 
picture-books. And if Mr. Johnson should sell a book 
to man, woman, or child, it would cost him an hour’s talk 
to get a profit of only sixpence. 

“ M,y poor father ! ” thought Sam to himself. “ How 
his head will ache ! and how heavy his heart will be ! I 
am almost sorry that I did not do as he bade me.” 


2 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


Then the boy went to his mother, who was busy about 
the house. She did not know of what had passed be- 
tween Mr. Johnson and Sam. 

“ Mother/ 5 said he, “ did you think father seemed very 
ill to-day? 55 

“Yes, Sam/ 5 answered his mother, turning with a 
flushed face from the fire, where she was cooking their 
l canty dinner. “ Your father did look very ill ; and it is a 
pity he did not send you to Uttoxeter in his stead. You 
are a great boy now, and would rejoice, I am sure, to do 
something for your poor father, who has done so much 
for you. 55 

The lad made no reply. But again his imagination set 
to work and conjured up another picture of poor Michael 
Johnson. He was standing in the hot sunshine of the 
market-place, and looking so weary, sick, and disconso- 
late, that the eyes of all the crowd were drawn to him. 
“ Had this old man no son,” the people would say among 
themselves, “ who might have taken his place at the book- 
stall while the father kept his bed ? 55 And perhaps, — 
but this was a terrible thought for Sam ! — perhaps his 
father would faint away and fall down in the market- 
place, with his gray hair in the dust and his venerable 
face as deathlike as that of a corpse. And there would 
be the bystanders gazing earnestly at Mr. Johnson and 
whispering, “ Is he dead ? Is he dead ? 55 

And Sam shuddered as he repeated to himself, “ Is he 
dead?” 

“ 0, I have been a cruel son ! 55 thought he, within his 
own heart. “ God forgive me ! God forgive me ! 55 

But God could not yet forgive him ; for he was not 
truly penitent. Had he been so, he would have hastened 
away that very moment to Uttoxeter, and have fallen at 
his father’s feet, even in the midst of the crowded mar% 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


33 


ket-place. There he would have confessed his fault, and 
besought Mr. Johnson to go home and leave the rest of 
the day’s work to him. But such was Sam’s pride and 
natural stubbornness that he could not bring himself to 
this humiliation. Yet he ought to have done so, for his 
own sake, for his father’s sake, and for God’s sake. 

After sunset old Michael Johnson came slowly home 
and sat down in his customary chair. He said nothing 
to Sam ; nor do I know that a single word ever passed 
between them on the subject of the son’s disobedience. 
In a few years his father died, and left Sam to fight his 
way through the world by himself. It would make our 
story much too long were I to tell you even a few of the 
remarkable events of Sam’s life. Moreover, there is the 
less need of this, because many books have been written 
about that poor boy, and the fame that he acquired, and all 
that he did or talked of doing after he came to be a man. 

But one thing I must not neglect to say. Erom 
his boyhood upward until the latest day of his life he 
never forgot the story of Uttoxeter market. Often 
when he was a scholar of the University of Oxford, or 
master of an academy at Edial, or a writer for the Lon- 
don booksellers, — in all his poverty and toil and in all 
his success, — while he was walking the streets without 
a shilling to buy food, or when the greatest men of Eng- 
land were proud to feast him at their table, — still that 
heavy and remorseful thought came back to him, “ I was 
cruel to my poor father in his illness ! ” Many and many 
a time, awake or in his dreams, he seemed to see old 
Michael Johnson standing in the dust and confusion of 
the market-place and pressing his withered hand to his 
forehead as if it ached. 

Alas ! my dear children, it is a sad thing to have such 
a thought as this to bear us company through life. 


34 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


Though the story was but half finished, yet, as it was 
longer than usual, Mr. Temple here made a short pause. 
He perceived that Emily was in tears, and Edward 
turned his half-veiled face towards the speaker ‘with an 
air of great earnestness and interest. As for George, he 
had withdrawn into the dusky shadow behind his father’s 
chair. 




CHAPTER Y. 

a few moments Mr. Temple resumed the sto- 
y, as follows : — 

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

[Continued.] 

Well, my children, fifty years had passed away since 
young Sam Johnson had shown himself so hard-hearted 
towards his father. It was now market-day in the village 
of Uttoxeter. 

In the street of the village you might see cattle-dealers 
with cows and oxen for sale, and pig-drovers with herds 
of squeaking swine, and farmers with cartloads of cab- 
bages, turnips, onions, and all other produce of the soil. 
Now and then a farmer’s red-faced wife trotted along on 
horseback, with butter and cheese in two large panniers. 
The people of the village, with country* squires, and other 
visitors from the neighborhood, walked hither and thither, 
trading, jesting, quarrelling, and making just such a bus- 
tle as their fathers and grandfathers had made half a 
century before. 

In one part of the street there was a puppet-show, 
with a ridiculous merry-andrew, who kept both grown 
people and children in a roar of laughter. On the op- 



36 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


posite side was the old stone church of Uttoxeter, with 
ivy climbing up its walls and partly obscuring its Gothic 
windows. 

There was a clock in the gray tower of the ancient 
church, and the hands bn the dial-plate had now almost 
reached the hour of noon. At this busiest hour of the 
market a strange old gentleman was seen making his way 
among the crowd. He was very tall and bulky, and 
wore a brown coat and small-clothes, with black worsted 
stockings and buckled shoes. On his head was a three- 
cornered hat, beneath which a bushy gray wig thrust 
itself out, all in disorder. The old gentleman elbowed 
the people aside, and forced his way through the midst of 
them with a singular kind of gait, rolling his body hither 
and thither, so that he needed twice as much room as any 
other person there. 

“ Make way, sir ! ” he would cry out, in a loud, harsh 
voice, when somebody happened to interrupt his prog- 
ress. “ Sir, you intrude your person into the public 
thoroughfare ! ” 

“ What a queer old fellow this is ! ” muttered the peo- 
ple among themselves, hardly knowing whether to laugh 
or to be angry. 

But when they looked into the venerable stranger’s 
face, not the most thoughtless among them dared to offer 
him the least impertinence. Though his features were 
scarred and distorted with the scrofula, and though his 
eyes were dim and bleared, yet there was something of 
authority and wisdom in his look, which impressed them 
all with awe. So they stood aside to let him pass ; and 
the old gentleman made his way across the market-place, 
and paused near the corner of the ivy-mantled church. 
Just as he reached it the clock struck twelve. 

On the very spot of ground where the stranger now 


Biographical stories. 


37 


stood some aged people remembered that old Michael 
Johnson had formerly kept his book-stall. The little 
children who had once bought picture-books of him were 
grandfathers now. 

“ Yes ; here is the very spot ! ” muttered the old gen- 
tleman to himself. 

There this unknown personage took his stand and re- 
moved the three-cornered hat from his head. It was the 
busiest hour of the day. What with the hum of human 
voices, the lowing of cattle, the squeaking of pigs, and 
the laughter caused by the merry-andrew, the market- 
place was in very great confusion. But the stranger 
seemed not to notice it any more than if the silence of 
a desert were around him. He was rapt in his own 
thoughts. Sometimes he raised his furrowed brow to 
heaven, as if in prayer; sometimes he bent his head, as 
if an insupportable weight of sorrow were upon him. It 
increased the awfulness of his aspect that there was a 
motion of his head and an almost continual tremor 
throughout his frame, with singular twitchings and con- 
tortions of his features. 

The hot sun blazed upon his unprotected head ; but he 
seemed not to feel its fervor. A dark cloud swept across 
the sky and rain-drops pattered into the market-place ; 
but the stranger heeded not the shower. The people be- 
gan to gaze at the mysterious old gentleman with super- 
stitious fear and wonder. Who could he be ? Whence 
did he come ? Wherefore was he standing bareheaded in 
the market-place ? Even the school-boys left the merry- 
andrew and came to gaze, with wide-open eyes, at this 
tall, strange-looking old man. 

There was a cattle-drover in the village who had 
recently made a journey to the Smithfield market, in Lon- 
don. No sooner had this man thrust his way through 


38 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


the throng and taken a look at the unknown personage, 
than he whispered to one of his acquaintances, — 

“I say, Neighbor Hutchins, would ye like to know 
who this old gentleman is ? ” 

“Ay, that I would,” replied Neighbor Hutchins, “for 
a queerer chap I never saw in my life. Somehow it 
makes me feel small to look at him. He ’s more than 
a common man.” 

“ You may well say so,” answered the cattle-drover. 
“ Why, that ’s the famous Doctor Samuel Johnson, who 
they say is the greatest and learnedest man in England. 
I saw him in London streets, walking with one Mr. Bos- 
well.” 

Yes ; the poor boy, the friendless Sam, with whom we 
began our story, had become the famous Doctor Samuel 
Johnson. He was universally acknowledged as the 
wisest man and greatest writer in all England. He had 
given shape and permanence to his native language by 
his Dictionary. Thousands upon thousands of people 
had read his Idler, his Rambler, and his Rasselas. No- 
ble and wealthy men and beautiful ladies deemed it their 
highest privilege to be his companions. Even the King 
of Great Britain had sought his acquaintance, and told 
him what an honor he considered it that such a man had 
been born in his dominions. He was now at the summit 
of literary renown. 

But all his fame could not extinguish the bitter remeim 
brance which had tormented him through life. Never, 
never had he forgotten his father’s sorrowful and upbraid- 
ing look. Never, though the old man’s troubles had been 
over so many years, had he forgiven himself for inflicting 
such a pang upon his heart. And now, in his old age, 
he had come hither to do penance, by standing at noon- 
day, in the market-place of Uttoxeter, on the very spot 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


39 


where Michael Johnson had once kept his book-stall. 
The aged and illustrious man had done what the poor 
boy refused to do. By thus expressing his deep repent- 
ance and humiliation of heart, he hoped to gain peace of 
conscience and the forgiveness of God. 

My dear children, if you have grieved (I will not say 
your parents, but if you have grieved) the heart of any 
human being who has a claim upon your love, then think 
of Samuel Johnson’s penance. Will it not be better to 
redeem the error now than to endure the agony of re- 
morse for fifty years ? Would you not rather say to a 
brother, “ I have erred ; forgive me ! ” than perhaps to 
go hereafter and shed bitter tears upon his grave ? 

Hardly was the story concluded when George hastily 
arose, and Edward likewise, stretching forth his hands 
into the darkness that surrounded him to find his brother. 
Both accused themselves of unkindness : each besought 
the other’s forgiveness ; and having done so, the trouble 
of their hearts vanished away like a dream. 

“ I am glad ! I am so glad ! ” said Emily, in a low, ear- 
nest voice. “Now I shall sleep quietly to-night.” • 

“My sweet child,” thought Mrs. Temple as she kissed 
her, “ mayest thou never know how much strife there is 
on earth ! It would cost thee many a night’s rest.” 




CHAPTEE VI. 


BOUT this period Mr. Temple found it neces- 
sary to take a journey, which interrupted the 
series of Biographical Stories for several even- 
ings. In the interval, Edward practised various methods 
of employing and amusing his mind. 

Sometimes he meditated upon beautiful objects which 
he had formerly seen, until the intensity of his recollec- 
tion seemed to restore him the gift of sight and place 
everything anew before his eyes. Sometimes he repeated 
verses of poetry which he did not know to be in his 
memory until he found them there just at the time of 
need. Sometimes he attempted to solve arithmetical 
questions which had perplexed him while at school. 

Then, with his mother’s assistance, he learned the let- 
ters of the string alphabet, which is used in some of the 
institutions for the blind in Europe. When one of his 
friends gave him a leaf of St. Mark’s Gospel, printed in 
embossed characters, he endeavored to read it by passing 
his fingers over the letters as blind children do. 

His brother George was now very kind, and spent so 
much time in the darkened chamber that Edward often 
insisted upon his going out to play. George told 
him all about the affairs at school, and related many 
amusing incidents that happened among his comrades. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


41 


and informed him what sports were now in fashion, and 
whose kite soared the highest, and whose little ship 
sailed fleetest on the Frog Pond. As for Emily, she re- 
peated stories which she had learned from a new book 
called The Flower People, in which the snowdrops, 
the violets, the columbines, the roses, and all that lovely 
tribe are represented as telling their secrets to a little 
girl. The flowers talked sweetly, as flowers should ; and 
Edward almost fancied that he could behold their bloom 
and smell their fragrant breath. 

Thus, in one way or another, the dark days of Ed- 
ward’s confinement passed not unhappily. In due time 
his father returned ; and the next evening, when the 
family were assembled, he began a story. 

“ I must first observe, children,” said lie, “ that some 
writers deny the truth of the incident which I am about 
to relate to you. There certainly is but little evidence in 
favor of it. Other respectable writers, however, tell it 
for a fact ; and, at all events, it is an interesting story, 
and has an excellent moral.” 

So Mr. Temple proceeded to talk about the early 
days of 


OLIVER CROMWELL. 

[Born 1599. Died 1658.] 

Not long after King James I. took the place of Queen 
Elizabeth on the throne of England, there lived an Eng- 
lish knight at a place called Ilinchinbrooke. His name 
was Sir Oliver Cromwell. He spent his life, I suppose, 
pretty much like other English knights and squires in 
those days, hunting hares and foxes and drinking large 
quantities of ale^and wine. The old house in which he 
dwelt had been occupied by his ancestors before him for 


42 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


a good many years. In it there was a great hall, hung 
round with coats of arms and helmets, cuirasses and 
swords, which his forefathers had used in battle, and 
with horns of deer and tails of foxes which they or Sir 
Oliver himself had killed in the) chase. 

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been 
called Oliver, after himself, but who was generally known 
in the family by the name of little Noll. His father was 
a younger brother of Sir Oliver. The child was often 
sent to visit his uncle, who probably found him a trouble- 
some little fellow to take care of. He was forever in 
mischief, and always running into some danger or other, 
from which he seemed to escape only by miracle. 

Even while he was an infant in the cradle a strange 
accident had befallen him. A huge ape, which was kept 
in the family, snatched up little Noll in his fore paws and 
clambered with him to the roof of the house. There this 
ugly beast sat grinning at the affrighted spectators, as if 
it had done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable. 
Fortunately, however, he brought the child safe down 
again ; and the event was afterwards considered an omen 
that Noll would reach a very elevated station in the 
world. 

One morning, when Noll was five or six years old a 
royal messenger arrived at Hinchinbrooke with tidings 
that King James was coming to dine with Sir Oliver 
Cromwell. This was a high honor, to be sure, but a very 
great trouble; for all the lords and ladies, knights, 
squires, guards and yeomen, who waited on the king, 
were to be feasted as well as himself ; and more provis- 
ions would be eaten and more wine drunk in that one 
day than generally in a month. However, Sir Oliver 
expressed much thankfulness for the king’s intended 
.visit, and ordered his butler and cook to make the best 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


43 


preparations in their power. So a great fire was kindled 
in the kitchen ; and the neighbors knew by the smoke 
which poured out of the chimney that boiling, baking, 
stewing, roasting, and frying were going on merrily. 

By and by the sound of trumpets was heard approach- 
ing nearer and nearer ; a heavy, old-fashioned coach, sur- 
rounded by guards on horseback, drove up to the house. 
Sir Oliver, with his hat in his hand, stood at the gate to 
receive the king. His Majesty was dressed in a suit of 
green not very new : he had a feather in his hat and a 
triple ruff round his neck, and over his shoulder was 
slung a hunting-horn instead of a sword. Altogether he 
had not the most dignified aspect in the world ; but the 
spectators gazed at him as if there was something super- 
human and divine in his person. They even shaded 
their eyes with their hands, as if they were dazzled by 
the glory of his countenance. 

“ How are ye, man ? ” cried King James, speaking in 
a Scotch accent ; for Scotland was his native country. 
“ By my crown, Sir Oliver, but lam glad to see ye ! ” 

The good knight thanked the king ; at the same time 
kneeling down while his Majesty alighted. When King 
James stood on the ground, he directed Sir Oliver’s at- 
tention to a little boy who had come with him in the 
coach. He was six or seven years old, and wore a hat 
and feather, and was more richly dressed than the king 
himself. Though by no means an ill-looking child, he 
seemed shy, or even sulky ; and his cheeks were rather 
pale, as if he had been kept moping within doors, instead 
of being sent out to play in the sun and wind. 

“ I have brought my son Charlie to see ye,” said the 
king. “ I hope, Sir Oliver, ye have a son of your own 
to be his playmate.” 

Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the 


44 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


little prince, whom one of the attendants had now taken 
out of the coach. It was wonderful to see how all the 
spectators, even the aged men with their gray beards, 
humbled themselves before this child. They bent their 
bodies till their beards almost swept the dust. They 
looked as if they were ready to kneel down and wor- 
ship him. 

The poor little prince ! From his earliest infancy not 
a soul had dared to contradict him ; everybody around 
him had acted as if he were a superior being ; so that, 
of course, he had imbibed the same opinion of himself. 
He naturally supposed that the whole kingdom of Great 
Britain and all its inhabitants had been created solely for 
his benefit and amusement. This was a sad mistake; 
and it cost him dear enough after he had ascended his 
father’s throne. 

“ What a noble little prince he is ! ” exclaimed Sir 
Oliver, lifting his hands in admiration. “No, please 
your Majesty, I have no son to be the playmate of his 
royal highness ; but there is a nephew of mine some- 
where about the house. He is near the prince’s age, and 
will be but too happy to wait upon his royal highness.” 

“ Send for him, man ! send for him ! ” said the king. 

But, as it happened, there was no need of sending for 
Master Noll. While King James was speaking, a rug- 
ged, bold-faced, sturdy little urchin thrust himself through 
the throng of courtiers and attendants and greeted the 
prince with a broad stare. His doublet and hose (which 
had been put on * new and clean in honor of the king’s 
visit) were already soiled and torn with the rougli play in 
which he had spent the morning. He looked no more 
abashed than if King James were his uncle and the prince 
one of his customary playfellows. 

This was little Noll himself. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


45 


“Here, please your Majesty, is my nephew,” said Sir 
Oliver, somewhat ashamed of Noll’s appearance and de- 
meanor. “Oliver, make your obeisance to the king’s 
majesty.” 

The boy made a pretty respectful obeisance to the 
king ; for in those days children were taught to pay rev- 
erence to their elders. King James, who prided himself 
greatly on his scholarship, asked Noll a few questions in 
the" Latin grammar, and then introduced him to his son. 
The little prince, in a very grave and dignified manner, 
extended his hand, not for Noll to shake, but that he 
might kneel down and kiss it. 

“Nephew,” said Sir Oliver, “pay your duty to the 
prince.” 

“I owe him no duty,” cried Noll, thrusting aside the 
prince’s hand with a rude laugh. “ Why should I kiss 
that boy’s hand?” 

All the courtiers were amazed and confounded, and Sir 
Oliver the most of all. But the king laughed heartily, 
saying, that little Noll had a stubborn English spirit, and 
that it was well for his son to learn betimes what sort of 
a people he was to rule over. 

So King James and his train entered the house ; and 
the prince, with Noll and some other children, was sent 
to play in a separate room while his Majesty was at din- 
ner. The young people soon became acquainted; for 
boys, whether the sons of monarclis or of peasants, all 
like play, and are pleased with one another’s society. 
What games they diverted themselves with I cannot tell. 
Perhaps they played at ball, perhaps at bliud-man’s-buff, 
perhaps at leap-frog, perhaps at prison-bars. Such games 
have been in use for hundreds of years ; and princes as 
well as poor children have spent some of their happiest 
hours in playing at them. 


16 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


Meanwhile King James and his nobles were feasting 
with Sir Oliver in the great hall. The king sat in a 
gilded chair, under a canopy, at the head of a long table. 
Whenever any of the company addressed him, it was with 
the deepest reverence. If the attendants offered him 
wine or the various delicacies of the festival, it was upon 
their bended knees. You would have thought, by these 
tokens of worship, that the monarch was a supernatural 
being; only he seemed to have quite as much need of 
those vulgar matters, food and drink, as any other person 
at the table. But fate had ordained that good King 
James should not finish his dinner in peace. 

All of a sudden there arose a terrible uproar in the 
room where the children were at play. Angry shouts 
and shrill cries of alarm were mixed up together ; while 
the voices of elder persons were likewise heard, trying to 
restore order among the children. The king and every- 
body else at table looked aghast ; for perhaps the tumult 
made them think that a general rebellion had broken 
out. 

“ Mercy on us ! ” muttered Sir Oliver ; “ that grace- 
less nephew of mine is in some mischief or other. The 
naughty little whelp ! ” 

Getting up from table, he ran to see what was the 
matter, followed by many of the guests, and the king 
among them. They all crowded to the door of the play- 
room. 

On looking in, they beheld the little Prince Charles, 
with his rich dress all torn and covered with the dust of 
the floor. His royal blood was streaming from his nose 
hi great abundance. He gazed at Noll with *a mixture 
of rage and affright, and at the same time a puzzled ex- 
pression, as if he could not understand how any mortal 
boy should dare to give him a beating. As for Noll 4 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


47 


there stood his sturdy little figure, bold as a lion, looking 
as if he were ready to fight, not only the prince, but the 
king and kingdom too. 

“ You little villain ! ” cried his uncle. “ What have 
you been, about ? Down on your knees, this instant, 
and ask the prince’s pardon. How dare you lay your 
hands on the king’s majesty’s royal son F ” 

“ He struck me first,” grumbled the valiant little 
Noll ; “ and I ’ve only given him his due.” 

Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands in as- 
tonishment and horror. No punishment seemed severe 
enough for this wicked little varlet, who had dared to 
resent a blow from the king’s own son. Some of the 
courtiers were of opinion that Noll should be sent pris- 
oner to the Tower of London and brought to trial for 
high treason. Others, in their great zeal for the king’s 
service, were about to lay hands on the boy and chastise 
him in the royal presence. 

But King James, who sometimes showed a good deal 
of sagacity, ordered them to desist. 

“Thou art a bold Doy,” said he, looking fixedly at 
little Noll; “and, if thou live to be a man, my son 
Charlie would do wisely to be friends with thee.” 

“ I never will ! ” cried the little prince, stamping his 
foot. 

“ Peace, Charlie, peace ! ” said the king ; then ad- 
dressing Sir Oliver and the attendants, “ Harm not the 
urchin ; for he has taught my son a good lesson, if 
Heaven do but give him grace to profit by it. Here- 
after, should he be tempted to tyrannize over the stub- 
born race of Englishmen, let him remember little Noll 
Cromwell and his own bloody nose.” 

So the king finished his dinner and departed ; and for 
many a long year the childish quarrel between Prince 


48 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


Charles and Noll Cromwell was forgotten. The prince, 
indeed, might have lived a happier life, and have met a 
more peaceful death, had he remembered that quarrel 
and the moral which his father drew from it. But when 
old King James was dead, and Charles sat upon his 
throne, he seemed to forget that lie was but a man, and 
that his meanest subjects were men as well as he. He 
wished to have the property and lives of the people of 
England entirely at his own disposal. But the Puritans, 
and all who loved liberty, rose against him and beat him 
in many battles, and pulled him down from his throne. 

Throughout this war between the king and nobles on 
one side and the people of England on the other there 
Was a famous leader, who did more towards the ruin of 
royal authority than all the rest. The contest seemed 
like a wrestling-match between King Charles and this 
strong man. And the king was overthrown. 

When the discrowned monarch was brought to trial, 
that warlike leader sat in the judgment hall. Many 
judges were present besides himself ; but he alone had 
the power to save King Charles or to doom him to the 
scaffold. After sentence was pronounced, this victorious 
general was entreated by his own children, on their knees, 
to rescue his Majesty from death. 

“No!” said he, sternly. “Better that one man 
should perish than that the whole country should be 
ruined for his sake. It is resolved that he shall die ! ” 

When Charles, no longer a king, was led to the scaf- 
fold, his great enemy stood at a window of the royal palace 
of Whitehall. He beheld the poor victim of pride, and 
an evil education, and misused power, as he laid his head 
upon the block. He looked on with a steadfast gaze 
while a black-veiled executioner lifted the fatal axe and 
smote off that anointed head at a single blow. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 49 

“ It is a righteous deed,” perhaps he said to himself. 
“ Now Englishmen may enjoy their rights.” 

At night, when the body of Charles was laid in the 
coffin, in a gloomy chamber, the general entered, lighting 
himself with a torch. Its gleam showed that he was now 
growing old ; his visage was scarred with the many bat- 
tles in which he had led the van ; his brow was wrinkled 
with care and with the continual exercise of stern author- 
ity. Probably there was not a single trait, either of 
aspect or manner, that belonged to the little Noll who 
had battled so stoutly with Prince Charles. Yet this 
was he ! 

He lifted the coffin-lid, and caused the light of his 
torch to fall upon the dead monarch’s face. Then, prob- 
ably, his mind went back over all the marvellous events 
that had brought the hereditary King of England to this 
dishonored coffin, and had raised himself, a humble in- 
dividual, to the possession of kingly power. He was a 
king, though without the empty title or the glittering 
crown. 

“Why was it,” said Cromwell to himself, or might 
have said, as he gazed at the pale features in the coffin, 
— “ why was it that this great king fell, and that poor 
Noll Cromwell has gained all the power of the realm F ” 

And, indeed, why was it ? 

King Charles had fallen, because, in his manhood the 
same as when a child, he disdained to feel that every 
human creature was his brother. He deemed himself 
a superior being, and fancied that his subjects were cre- 
ated only for a king to rule over. And Cromwell rose, 
because, in spite of his many faults, he mainly fought 
for the rights and freedom of his fellow-men ; and there- 
fore the poor and the oppressed all lent their strength 
to him. 


50 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


“ Dear father, how I should hate to be a king ! ” ex- 
claimed Edward. 

“ And would you like to be a Cromwell ? ” inquired his 
father. 

“ I should like it well,” replied George ; " only I 
would not have put the poor old king to death. I would 
have sent him out of the kingdom, or perhaps have al- 
lowed him to live in a small house near the gate of the 
royal palace. It was too severe to cut off his head.” 

“ Kings are in such an unfortunate position,” said Mr. 
Temple, “ that they must either be almost deified by their 
subjects, or else be dethroned and beheaded. In either 
case it is a pitiable lot.” 

“ O, I had rather be blind than be a king ! ” said 
Edward. 

“ Well, my dear Edward,” observed his mother, with a 
smile, “ I am glad you are convinced that your own lot is 
not the hardest in the world.” 




CHAPTER VII. 

was a pleasant sight, for those who had eyes, 
o see how patiently the blinded little hoy now 
ubmitted to what he had at first deemed an 
intolerable calamity. The beneficent Creator has not 
allowed our comfort to depend on the enjoyment of any 
single sense. Though he has made the world so very 
beautiful, yet it is possible to be happy without ever be- 
holding the blue sky, or thtf green and flowery earth, or 
the kind faces of those whom we love. Thus it appears 
that all the external beauty of the universe is a free gift 
from God over and above what is necessary to our com- 
fort. How grateful, then, should we be to that divine 
Benevolence, which showers even superfluous bounties 
upon us ! 

One truth, therefore, which Edward’s blindness had 
taught him was, that his mind and soul could dispense 
with the assistance of his eyes. Doubtless, however, he 
would have found this lesson far more difficult to learn 
had it not been for the affection of those around him. 
His parents, and George and Emily, aided him to bear 
his misfortune; if possible, they would have lent him 
their own eyes. And this, too, was a good lesson for 
him. It taught him how dependent on one another God 
has ordained us to be, insomuch that all the necessities of 
mankind should incite them to mutual love. 



# 


62 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


So Edward loved his friends, and perhaps all the 
world, better than he ever did before. And he felt grate- 
ful towards his father for spending the evenings in telling 
him stories, — more grateful, probably, than any of my 
little readers will feel towards me for so carefully writing 
these same stories down. 

“ Come, dear father,” said he, the next evening, “ now 
tell us about some other little boy who was destined to 
be a famous man.” 

“How would you like a story of a Boston boy?” 
asked his father. 

“ 0, pray let us have it ! ” cried George, eagerly. “It 
will be all the better if he has been to our schools, and 
has coasted on the Common, and sailed boats in the Erog 
Pond. I shall feel acquainted with him then.” 

“Well, then,” said Mr. Temple, “I will introduce you . 
to a Boston boy whom all the world became acquainted 
with after he grew to be a man.” 

The story was as follows : — 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

[Born 1706. Died 1790.] 

In the year 1716, or about that period, a boy used to 
be seen in the streets of Boston who was known among 
his schoolfellows and playmates by the name of Ben 
Franklin. Ben was born in 1706 ; so that he was now 
about ten years old. His father, who had come over 
from England, was a soap-boiler and tallow-chandler, 
and resided in Milk Street, not far from the Old South 
Church. 

Ben was a bright boy at his book, and even a brighter 
one when at play with his comrades. He had some 
remarkable qualities which always seemed to give him 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


53 


the lead, whether at sport or in more serious matters. 
I might tell you a number of amusing anecdotes about 
him. You are acquainted, I suppose, with his famous 
story of the Whistle, and how he bought it with a 
whole pocketful of coppers and afterwards repented of 
his bargain. But Ben had grown a great boy since 
those days, and had gained wisdom by experience ; for 
it was one of his peculiarities, that no incident ever hap- 
pened to him without teaching him some valuable lesson. 
Thus he generally profited more by his misfortunes than 
many people do by the most favorable events that could 
befall them. 

Ben’s face was already pretty well known to the in- 
habitants of Boston. The selectmen and other people of 
note often used to visit his father, for the sake of talking 
about the affairs of the town or province. Mr. Franklin 
was considered a person of great wisdom and integrity, 
and was respected by all who knew him, although he 
supported his family by the humble trade of boiling soap 
and making tallow candles. 

While his father and the visitors were holding deep 
consultations about public affairs, little Ben would sit on 
his stool in a corner, listening with the greatest interest, 
as if he understood every word. Indeed, his features 
were so full of intelligence that there could be but little 
doubt, not only that he understood what was said, but 
that he could have expressed some very sagacious opin- 
ions out of his own mind. But in those days boys were 
expected to be silent in the presence of their elders. 
However, Ben Franklin was looked upon as a very prom- 
ising lad, who would talk and act wisely by and by. 

“ Neighbor Franklin,” his father’s friends would some- 
times say, “ you ought to send this boy to college and 
make a minister of him.” 


54 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


“ I have often thought of it,” his father would reply ; 
“and my brother Benjamin promises to give him a great 
many volumes of manuscript sermons, in case he should 
be educated for the church. But I have a large family 
to support,, and cannot afford the expense.”' 

In fact,/ Mr. Franklin found it so difficult to provide 
bread for his family, that, when the boy was ten years 
old, it became necessary to take him from school. ’ Ben 
was then employed in cutting candle-wicks into equal 
lengths and filling the moulds with tallow; and many 
families in Boston spent their evenings by the light of 
the candles which he had helped to make. Thus, you 
see, in his early days, as well as in his manhood, his 
labors contributed to throw light upon dark matters. 

Busy as his life now was, Ben still found time to keep 
company with his former schoolfellows. He and the 
other boys were very fond of fishing, and spent many of 
their leisure hours on the margin of the mill-pond, catch- 
ing flounders, perch, eels, and tomcod, which came up 
thither with the tide. The place where they fished is 
now, probably, covered with stone pavements and brick 
buildings, and thronged with people and with vehicles 
of all kinds. But at that period it was a marshy spot on 
the outskirts of the town, where gulls flitted and screamed 
overhead and salt-meadow grass grew under foot. 

On the edge of the water there was a deep bed of clay, 
in which the boys were forced to stand while they caught 
their fish. Here they dabbled in mud and mire like a 
flock of ducks. 

“ This is very uncomfortable,” said Ben Franklin one 
day to his comrades, while they were standing mid-leg 
deep in the quagmire. 

“ So it is,” said the other boys. “ What a pity we 
have no better place to stand ! ” 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


55 


If it had not been for Ben, nothing more would have 
been done or said about the matter. But it was not in 
his nature to be sensible of an inconvenience without 
using his best efforts to find a remedy. So, as he and 
his comrades were returning from the water-side, Ben 
suddenly threw down his string of fish with a very deter- 
mined air. 

“ Boys,” cried he, “ I have thought of a scheme which 
will be greatly for our benefit and for the public benefit.” 

It was queer enough, to be sure, to hear this lit- 
tle chap — this rosy-cheeked, ten-year-old boy — talking 
about schemes for the public benefit ! Nevertheless, his 
companions were ready to listen, being assured that Ben’s 
scheme, whatever it was, would be well worth their at- 
tention. They remembered how sagaciously he had con- 
ducted all their enterprises ever since he had been old 
enough to wear small-clothes. 

They remembered, too, his wonderful contrivance of 
sailing across the mill-pond by lying flat on his back in 
the water and allowing himself to' be drawn along by* a 
paper kite. If Ben could do that, he might certainly do 
anything. . 

“ What is your scheme, Ben ? — what is it F ” cried 
they all. 

It so happened that they had now come to a spot of 
ground where a new house was to be built. Scattered 
round about lay a great many large stones which were to 
be used for the cellar and foundation. Ben mounted 
upon the highest of these stones, so that he might speak 
with the more authority. 

“ You know, lads,” said he, “ what a plague it is to be 
forced to stand in the quagmire yonder, — over shoes and 
stockings (if we wear any) in mud and water. See ! I 
am bedaubed to the knees of my small-clothes ; and you 


56 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


are all in the same pickle. Unless we can find some 
remedy for this evil, our fishing business must be entirely 
given up. And, surely, this would be a terrible misfor- 
tune ! ” 

“ That it would ! that it would ! ” said his comrades, 
sorrowfully. 

“ Now, I propose,” continued Master Benjamin, “that 
we build a wharf, for the purpose of carrying on our 
fisheries. You see these stones. The workmen mean to 
use them for the underpinning of a house; but that 
would be for only one man’s advantage. My plan is to 
take these same stones and carry them to the edge of the 
water and build a wharf with them. This will not only 
enable us to carry on the fishing business with comfort 
and to better advantage, but it will likewise be a great 
convenience to boats passing up and down the stream. 
Thus, instead of one man, fifty, or a hundred, or a thou- 
sand, besides ourselves, may be benefited by these stones. 
What say you, lads ? shall we build the wharf?” 

Ben’s proposal was received with one of those uproari- 
ous shouts wherewith boys usually express their delight 
at whatever completely suits their views. Nobody thought 
of questioning the right and justice of building a wharf 
with stones that belonged to another person. 

“ Hurrah ! hurrah ! ” shouted they. “ Let ’s set about 
it.” 

It was agreed that they should all be on the spot that 
evening and commence their grand public enterprise 
by moonlight. Accordingly, at the appointed time, the 
whole gang of youthful laborers assembled, and eagerly 
began to remove the stones. They had not calculated how 
much toil would be requisite in this important part of their 
undertaking. The very first stone which they laid hold of 
proved so heavy that it almost seemed to be fastened to 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 57 

the ground. Nothing but Ben Franklin’s cheerful and 
resolute spirit could have induced them to persevere. 

Ben, as might be expected, was the soul of the en- 
terprise. By his mechanical genius, he contrived meth- 
ods to lighten the labor of transporting the stones, so 
that one boy, under his directions, would perform as much 
as half a dozen if left to themselves. Whenever their 
spirits flagged he had some joke ready, which seemed to 
renew their strength, by setting them all into a roar of 
laughter. Aud when, after an hour or two of hard work, 
the stones were transported to the water-side, Ben Frank- 
lin was the engineer to superintend the construction of 
the wharf. 

The boys, like a colony of ants, performed a great 
deal of labor by their multitude, though the individual 
strength of each could have accomplished but little. 
Finally, just as the moon sank below the horizon, the 
great work was finished. 

“Now, boys,” cried Ben, “let’s give three cheers and 
go home to bed. To-morrow we may catch fish at our 
ease.” 

“ Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! ” shouted his comrades. 

Then they all went home in such an ecstasy of delight 
that they could hardly get a wink of sleep. 

The story was not yet finished; but George’s impa- 
tience caused him to interrupt it. 

“ How I wish that I could have helped to build that 
wharf!” exclaimed he. “It must have been glorious 
fun. Ben Franklin forever, say I.” 

“ It was a very pretty piece of work,” said Mr. Tem- 
ple. “ But wait till you hear the end of the story.” 

“Father,” inquired Edward, “whereabouts in Boston 
was the mill-pond on which Ben built his wharf ? ” 

“I do not exactly know,” answered Mr. Temple; 


58 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


<( but I suppose it to have been on the northern verge 
of the town, in the vicinity of what are now called Mer- 
rimack and Charlestown Streets. That thronged por- 
tion of the city was once a marsh. Some of it, in fact, 
was covered with water.” 



CHAPTER VIII. 


S the, children had no more questions to ask, 
Mr. Temple proceeded to relate what conse- 
quences ensued from the building of Ben Erank- 
lin’s wharf. 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

[CONTINUED.] 

In the morning, when the early sunbeams were gleam- 
ing on the steeples and roofs of the town and gilding the 
water that surrounded it, the masons came, rubbing their 
eyes, to begin their work at the foundation of the new 
house. But, on reaching the spot, they rubbed their 
eyes so much the harder. What had become of their 
heap of stones F 

“ Why, Sam,” said one to another, in great perplexity, 
“ here’s been some witchcraft at work while we were 
asleep. The stones must have flown away through the 
air ! ” 

“ More likely they have been stolen ! ” answered Sam. 

“ But who on earth would think of stealing a heap of 
stones ? ” cried a third. “ Could a man carry them away 
in his pocket ? ” 

The master mason, who was a gruff kind of man, stood 
scratching his head, and said nothing at first. But, look- 



60 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


ing carefully on the ground, lie discerned innumerable 
tracks of little feet, some with shoes and some barefoot. 
Following these tracks with his eye, he saw that they 
formed a beaten path towards the water-side. 

“Ah, I see what the mischief is,” said he, nodding 
his head. “ Those little rascals, the boys, — they have 
stolen our stones to build a wharf with ! ” 

The masons immediately went to examine the new 
structure. And to say the truth, it was well worth look- 
ing at, so neatly and with such admirable skill had it 
been planned and finished. The stones were put together 
so securely that there was no danger of their being loos- 
ened by the tide, however swiftly it might sweep along. 
There was a broad and safe platform to stand upon, 
whence the little fishermen might cast their lines into 
deep water and draw up fish in abundance. Indeed, it 
almost seemed as if Ben and his comrades might be for- 
given for taking the stones, because they had done their 
job in such a workmanlike manner. 

“ The chaps that built this wharf understood their busi- 
ness pretty well,” said one of the masons. “ I should not 
be ashamed of such a piece of work myself.” 

But the master mason did not seem to enjoy the joke. 
He was one of those unreasonable people who care a 
great deal more for their own rights and privileges than 
for the convenience of all the rest of the world. 

“ Sam,” said he, more gruffly than usual, “ go call a 
constable.” 

So Sam called a constable, and inquiries were set on 
foot to discover the perpetrators of the theft. In the 
course of the day warrants were issued, with the signa- 
ture of a justice of the peace, to take the bodies of Ben- 
jamin Franklin and other evil-disposed persons who had 
stolen a heap of stones. If the owner of the stolen prop. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


61 


erty had not been more merciful than the master mason, 
it might have gone hard with our friend Benjamin and 
his fellow-laborers. But, luckily for them, the gentleman 
had a respect for Ben’s father, and, moreover, was amused 
with the spirit of the whole affair. He therefore let the 
culprits off pretty easily. ' 

But, when the constables were dismissed, the poor boys 
had to go through another trial, and receive sentence; 
and suffer execution, too, from their own fathers. Many 
a rod, I grieve to say, was worn to the stump on that 
unlucky night. 

As for Ben, he was less afraid of a whipping than of 
his father’s disapprobation. Mr. Franklin, as I have men- 
tioned before, was a sagacious man, and also an inflexibly 
upright one. He had read much for a person in his rank 
of life, and had pondered upon the ways of the world, 
until he had gained more wisdom than a whole library of 
books could have taught him. Ben had a greater rever- 
ence for his father than for any other person in the world, 
as well on account of his spotless integrity as of his prac- 
tical sense and deep views of things. 

Consequently, after being released from the clutches of 
the law, Ben came into his father’s presence with no 
small perturbation of mind. 

“ Benjamin, come hither,” began Mr. Franklin, in his 
customary solemn and weighty tone. 

The boy approached and stood before his father’s chair, 
waiting reverently to hear what judgment this good man 
would pass upon his late offence. He felt that now the 
right and wrong of the whole matter would be made to 
appear. 

“ Benjamin ! ” said his father, “ what could induce you 
to take property which did not belong to you ? ” 

“ Why, father,” replied Ben, hanging his head at first, 


62 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


but then lifting eyes to Mr. Franklin’s face, “if it 
had been merely for my own benefit, I never should have 
dreamed of it. But I knew that the wharf would be 
a public convenience. If the owner of the stones should 
build a house with them, nobody will enjoy any advan- 
tage except himself. Now, I made use of them in a way 
that was for the advantage of many persons. I thought 
it right to aim at doing good to the greatest number.” 

“ My son,” said Mr. Franklin, solemnly, “ so far as it 
was in your power, you have done a greater harm to the 
public than to the owner of the stones.” 

“ How can that be, father ? ” asked Ben. 

“Because,” answered his / father, “in building your 
wharf with stolen materials, you have committed a moral 
wrong. There is no more terrible mistake than to vio- 
late what is eternally right for the sake of a seeming ex- 
pediency. Those who act upon such a principle do the 
utmost in their power to destroy all that is good in the 
world.” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” said Benjamin. 

“No act,” continued Mr. Franklin, “can possibly be 
for the benefit of the public generally which involves in- 
justice to any individual. It would be easy to prove this 
by examples. But, indeed, can w r e suppose that our all- 
wise and just Creator would have so ordered the affairs 
of the world that a wrong act should be the true method 
of attaining a right end ? It is impious to •think so. 
And I do verily believe, Benjamin, that almost all the 
public and private misery of mankind arises from a 
neglect of this great truth, — that evil can produce 
only evil, — that good ends must be wrought out by 
good means.” 

t “ I will never forget it again,” said Benjamin, bowing 
his head. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. G- 

" Remember,” concluded his father, “ that, whenever 
we vary from the highest rule of right, just so far we do 
an injury to the world. It may seem otherwise for the 
moment ; but, both in time and in eternity, it will be 
found so.” 

To the close of his life Ben Branklin never forgot this 
conversation with his father ; and we have reason to sup- 
pose that, in most of his public and private career, he 
endeavored to act upon the principles which that good 
and wise man had then taught him. 

After the great event of building the wharf, Ben con- 
tinued to cut wick-yarn and fill candle-moulds for about 
two years. But, as he had no love for that occupation, 
his father often took him to see various artisans at t heir 
work, in order to discover what trade lie would prefer. 
Thus Ben learned the use of a great many tools, the 
knowledge of which afterwards proved very useful to 
him. But he seemed much inclined to go to sea. In 
order to keep him at home, and likewise to gratify his 
taste for letters, the lad was bound apprentice to his 
elder brother, who had lately set up a printing-office in 
Boston. 

Here he had many opportunities of reading new books 
and of hearing instructive conversation. He exercised 
himself so successfully in writing compositions, that, when 
no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, he became a 
contributor to his brother’s newspaper. Ben was also a 
versifier, if not a poet. He made two doleful ballads, — 
one about the shipwreck of Captain Worthilake ; and 
the other about the pirate Black Beard, wh®, not long 
before, infested the American seas. 

When Ben’s verses were printed, his brother sent him 
to sell them to the townspeople wet from the press. 
“ Buy my ballads ! ” shouted Benjamin, as he trudged 


64 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


through the- streets with a basketful on his arm. 
“Who ’ll buy a ballad about Black Beard? A penny 
apiece ! a penny apiece ! Who ’ll buy my ballads ? ” 

If one of those roughly composed and rudely printed 
ballads could be discovered now, it would be worth more 
than its weight in gold. 

In this way our friend Benjamin spent his boyhood 
and youth, until, on account of some disagreement, with 
his brother, he left his native town and went to Phila- 
delphia. He landed in the latter city, a homeless and 
hungry young man, and bought threepence worth of 
bread to satisfy his appetite. Not knowing where else 
to go, he entered a Quaker meeting-house, sat down, and 
fell fast asleep. He has not told us whether his slum- 
bers were visited by any dreams. But it would have 
been a strange dream, indeed, and an incredible one, that 
should have foretold how great a man he was destined to 
become, and how much he would be honored in that very 
city where he was now friendless and unknown. 

So here we finish our story of the childhood of Ben- 
jamin Pranklin. One of these days, if you would know 
what he was in his manhood, you must read his own 
works and the history of American independence. 

“ I)o let us hear a little more of him ! ” said Edward ; 
“ not that I admire him so much as many other charac- 
ters ; but he interests me, because he was a Yankee boy.” 

“My dear son,” replied Mr. Temple, “it would re- 
quire a whole volume of talk to tell you all that is worth 
knowing about Benjamin Franklin. There is a very 
pretty anecdote of his flying a kite in the midst of a 
thunder-storm, and thus drawing down the lightning 
from the clouds and proving that it was the same thing 
as electricity. His whole life would be an interesting 
story, if we had time to tell it.” 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


65 


“ But, pray, dear father, tell us what made him so 
famous,” said George. “ I have seen his portrait a great 
many times. There is a wooden bust of him in one of 
our streets ; and marble ones, I suppose, in some other 
places. And towns, and ships of war, and steamboats, 
and banks, and academies, and children are often named 
after Franklin. Why should he have grown so very 
famous ? ” 

“Your question is a reasonable one, George,” an- 
swered his father. “ I doubt whether Franklin’s philo- 
sophical discoveries, important as they were, or even his 
vast political services, would have given him all the fame 
which he acquired. It appears to me that Poor Richard’s 
Almanac did more than anything else towards making 
him familiarly known to the public. As the writer of 
those proverbs which Poor Richard was supposed to 
utter, Franklin became the counsellor and household 
friend of almost every family in America. Thus it was 
the humblest of all his labors that has done the most for 
his fame.” 

“I have read some of those proverbs,” remarked 
• Edward ; “ but I do not like them. They are all about 
getting money or saving it.” 

“Well,” said his father, “they were suited to the 
condition of the . country ; and their effect, upon the 
whole, has doubtless been good, although they teach men 
but a very small portion of their duties.” 



CHAPTER IX. 




R»p|p| ITHERTO Mr. Temple’s narratives had all been 
llPSII a ^ ou ^ boys and men. But, the next evening, 
IIIM he bethought himself that the quiet little Emily 
would perhaps be glad to hear the story of a child of her 
own sex. *He therefore resolved to narrate the youthful 
adventures of Christina, of Sweden, who began to be a 
queen at the age of no more than six years. If we ha-ve 
any little girls among our readers, they must not suppose 
that Christina is set before them as a pattern of what 
they ought to be. On the contrary, the tale of her life is 
chiefly profitable as showing the evil effects of a wrong 
education, which caused this daughter of a king to be 
both useless and unhappy. Here follows the story. 

QUEEN CHRISTINA. 

[Born 1626. Died 1689.] 

In the royal palace at Stockholm, the capital city of Swe- 
den, there was born, in 1626, a little princess. The king, 
her father, gave her the name of Christina, in memory of a 
Swedish girl with whom he had been in love. His own 
name was Gustavus Adolphus ; and he was also called 
the Lion of the North, because he had gained greater 
fame in war than any other prince or general then alive. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


67 


With this valiant king for their commander, the Swedes 
had made themselves terrible to the Emperor of Germany 
and to the king of France, and were looked upon as the 
chief defence of the Protestant religion. 

The little Christina was by no means a beautiful child. 
To confess the truth, she was remarkably plain. JTlie 
queen, her mother, did not love her so much as she 
ought ; partly, perhaps, on account of Christina’s want 
of beauty, and also because both the king and queen had 
wished for a son, who might have gained as great renown 
in battle as his father had. 

The king, however, soon became exceedingly fond of 
the infant princess. When Christina was very youug she 
was taken violently sick. Gustavus Adolphus, who was 
several hundred miles from Stockholm, travelled night 
and day, and never rested until he held the poor child in 
his arms. On her recovery he made a solemn festival, in 
order to show his joy to the people of Sweden and express 
his gratitude to Heaven. After this event he took his 
daughter with him in all the journeys which he made 
throughout his kingdom. 

Christina soon proved herself a bold and sturdy little 
girl. When she was two years old, the king and herself, 
in the course of a journey, came to the strong fortress of 
Colmar. On the battlements were soldiers clad in steel 
armor, which glittered in the sunshine. There were like- 
wise great cannons, pointing their black mouths at Gus- 
tavus and little Christina, and ready to belch out their 
smoke and thunder ; for, whenever a king enters a for- 
tress, it is customary to receive him with a royal salute 
of artillery. 

But the captain of the fortress met Gustavus and his 
daughter as they were about to enter the gateway. 

“ May it please your Majesty,” said he, taking off his 


68 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


steel cap and bowing profoundly, “ I fear that, if we re- 
ceive- you with a salute of cannon, the little princess will 
be frightened almost to death.” 

Gustavus looked earnestly at his daughter, and was 
indeed apprehensive that the thunder of so many cannon 
might perhaps throw her into convulsions. He had al- 
most a mind to tell the captain to let them enter the for- 
tress quietly, as common people might have done, without 
all this head-splitting racket. But no ; this would not do. 

“ Let them fire,” said he, waving his hand. “ Christina 
is a soldier’s daughter, and must learn to bear the noise 
of cannon.” 

So the captain uttered the word of command, and im- 
mediately there was a terrible peal of thunder from the 
cannon, and such a gush of smoke that it enveloped the 
whole fortress in its volumes. But, amid all the din and 
confusion, Christina was seen clapping her little hands 
and laughing in an ecstasy of delight. Probably nothing 
ever pleased her father so much as to see that his daugh- 
ter promised to be fearless as himself. Pie determined 
to educate her exactly as if she had been a boy, and to 
teach her all the knowledge needful to the ruler of a 
kingdom and the commander of an army. 

But Gustavus should have remembered that Providence 
had created her to be a woman, and that it was not for 
him to make a man of her. 

However, the king derived great happiness from his 
beloved Christina. It must have been a pleasant sight 
to see the powerful monarch of Sweden playing in some 
magnificent hall of the palace with his merry little girl. 
Then he forgot that the weight of a kingdom rested upon 
his shoulders. He forgot that the wise Chancellor Ox- 
enstiern was waiting to consult with him how to render 
Sweden the greatest nation of Europe. He forgot that 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


69 


the Emperor of Germany and the King of Erance were 
plotting together how they might pull him down from his 
throne. 

Yes; Gustavus forgot all the perils, and cares, and 
pompous irksomeness of a royal life ; and was as happy, 
while playing with his child, as the humblest peasant in 
the realm of Sweden. How gayly did they dance along 
the marble floor of the palace, this valiant king, with his 
upright, martial figure, his war-worn visage, and com- 
manding aspect, and the small, round form of Christina, 
with her rosy face of childish merriment ! Her little fin- 
gers were clasped in her father’s hand, which had held 
the leading staff in many famous victories. His crown 
and sceptre were her playthings. She could disarm Gus- 
tavus of his sword, which was so terrible to the princes 
of Europe. 

But, alas ! the king was not long permitted to enjoy 
Christina’s society. When she was four years old Gus- 
tavus was summoned to take command of the allied armies 
of Germany, which were- fighting against the emperor. 
His greatest affliction was the necessity of parting with 
his child; but people in such high stations have but little 
opportunity for domestic happiness. He called an assem- 
bly of the senators of Sweden and confided Christina to 
their care, saying, that each one of them must be a father 
to her if he himself should fall in battle. 

At the moment of his departure Christina ran towards 
him and began to address him with a speech which some- 
body had taught her for the occasion. Gustavus was 
busied with thoughts about the affairs of the kingdom, 
so that he did not immediately attend to the childish 
voice of his little girl. Christina, who did not love to be 
unnoticed, immediately stopped short and pulled him by 
the eoat. 


70 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


“Father/’ said she, “why do not you listen to my 
speech ? ” 

In a moment the king forgot everything except that 
he was parting with what he loved best in all the world. 
He caught the child in his arms, pressed her to his 
bosom, and burst into tears. Yes; though he was a brave 
man, and though he wore a steel corselet on his breast, 
and though armies were waiting for him to lead them to 
battle, still his heart melted within him, and lie wept. 
Christina, too, was so afflicted that her attendants began 
to fear that she would actually die of grief. But prob- 
ably she was soon comforted ; for children seldom re- 
member their parents quite so faithfully as their parents 
remember them. 

For two years more Christina remained in the palace 
at Stockholm. The queen, her mother, had accompanied 
Gustavus to the wars. The child, therefore, was left to 
the guardianship of five of the wisest men in the king- 
dom. But these wise men knew better how to manage 
the affairs of state than how to govern and educate a 
little girl so as to render her a good and happy woman. 

When two years had passed away, tidings were brought 
to Stockholm which filled everybody with triumph and 
sorrow at the same time. The Swedes had won a glo- 
rious victory at Lutzen. But, alas ! the warlike King of 
Sweden, the Lion of the North, the father of our little 
Christina, had been slain at the foot of a great stone, 
which still marks the spot of that hero’s death. 

Soon after this sad event, a general assembly, or con- 
gress, consisting of deputations from the nobles, the 
clergy, the burghers, and the peasants of Sweden, was 
summoned to meet at Stockholm. It was for the pur- 
pose of declaring little Christina to be Queen of Sweden 
and giving her the crown and sceptre of her deceased 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. ' 71 

father. Silence being proclaimed, the Chancellor Oxen- 
stiern arose. 

“ We desire to know,” said he, “ whether the people 
of Sweden will take the daughter of our dead king, 
Gustavus Adolphus, to be their queen.” 

When the chancellor had spoken, an old man, with 
white hair and in coarse apparel, stood up in the midst of 
the assembly. He was a peasant, Lars Larrson by name, 
and had spent most of his life in laboring on a farm. 

“ Who is this daughter of Gustavus ? ” asked the old 
man. “ We do not know her. Let her be shown to us.” 

Then Christina was brought into the hall and placed 
before the old peasant. It was strange, no doubt, to see 
a child — a little girl of six years old — offered to the 
Swedes as their ruler instead of the brave king, her fa- 
ther, who had led them to victory so many times. Could 
her baby fingers wield a sword in war ? Could her 
childish mind govern the nation wisely in peace? 

But the Swedes do not appear to have asked them- 
selves these questions. Old Lars Larrson took Chris- 
tina up in his arms and gazed earnestly into her face. 

He had known the great Guslavus well ; and his heart 
was touched when he saw the likeness which the little 
girl bore to that heroic monarch. 

“ Yes,” cried he, with the tears gushing down his 
furrowed cheeks ; “ this is truly the daughter of our Gus- 
tavus ! Here is her father’s brow ! — here is his pier- 
cing eye ! She is his very picture ! This child shall be 
our queen ! ” 

Then all the proud nobles of Sweden, and the rever- 
end clergy, and the burghers, and the peasants, knelt 
down at the child’s feet and kissed her hand. 

“ Long live Christina, Queen of Sweden ! ” shouted 


72 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


Even after she was a woman grown Christina remem- 
bered the pleasure which she felt in seeing all these men 
at her feet and hearing them acknowledge her as their su- 
preme ruler. Poor child ! she was yet to learn that power 
does not insure happiness. As yet, however, she had not 
any real power. All the public business, it is true, was 
transacted in her name ; but the kingdom was governed 
by a number of the most experienced statesmen, who 
were called a regency. 

But it was considered necessary that the little queen 
should be present at the public ceremonies, and should 
behave just as if she were in reality the ruler of the na- 
tion. When she was seven years of age, some ambassa- 
dors from the Czar of Muscovy came to the Swedish 
court. They wore long beards, and were clad in a 
strange fashion, with furs and other outlandish orna- 
ments; and as they were inhabitants of a half-civilized 
country, they did not behave like other people. The 
Chancellor Oxenstiern was afraid that the young queen 
would burst out a laughing at the first sight of these 
queer ambassadors, or else that she would be frightened 
by their unusual aspect. 

“ Why should I be frightened ? ” said the little 
queen. “And do you suppose that I have no better 
manners than to laugh ? Only tell me how I must be- 
have, and I will do it.” 

Accordingly, the Muscovite ambassadors wer6 intro- 
duced ; and Christina received them and answered their 
speeches with as much dignity and propriety as if she 
had been a grown woman. 

All this time, though Christina was now a queen, you 
must not suppose that she was left to act as she pleased. 
She had a preceptor, named John Mathias, who was a 
very learned man and capable of instructing her in all 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


73 


the branches of science. But there was nobody to teach 
her the delicate graces and gentle virtues of a woman. 
She was surrounded almost entirely by men, and had 
learned to despise the society of her own sex. At the 
age of nine years she was separated from her mother, 
whom the Swedes did not consider a proper person to 
be intrusted with the charge of her. No little girl who 
sits by a New England fireside has cause to envy Chris- 
tina in the royal palace at Stockholm. 

Yet she made great progress in her studies. She 
learned to read the classical authors of Greece and Borne, 
and became a great admirer of the heroes and poets of old 
times. Then, as for active exercises, she could ride on 
horseback as well as any man in her kingdom. She was 
fond of hunting, and could shoot at a mark with wonder- 
ful skill. But dancing was the only feminine accomplish- 
ment with which she had any acquaintance. 

She was so restless in her disposition that none of her 
attendants were sure of a moment’s quiet neither day nor 
night. She grew up, I am sorry to say, a very unamiable 
person, ill-tempered, proud, stubborn, and, in short, unfit 
to make those around her happy or to be happy herself. 
Let every little girl, who has been taught self-control and 
a due regard for the rights of others, thank Heaven that 
she has had better instruction than this poor little Queen 
of Sweden. 

At the age of eighteen Christina was declared free to 
govern the kingdom by herself without the aid of a re- 
gency. At this period of her life she was a young woman 
of striking aspect, a good figure, and intelligent face, but 
very strangely dressed. She wore a short habit of gray 
cloth, with a man’s vest over it, and a black scarf around 
her neck ; but no jewels nor ornaments of any kind. 

Yet, though Christina was so negligent of her appear- 


74 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


ance, there was something in her air and manner that 
proclaimed her as the ruler of a kingdom. Her eyes, it 
is said, had a very fierce and haughty look. Old General 
Wrangel, who had often caused the enemies of Sweden to 
tremble in battle, actually trembled himself when he en- 
countered the eyes of the queen. But it would have 
been better for Christina if she could have made people 
love her, by means of soft and gentle looks, instead of 
affrighting them by such terrible glances. 

And now I have told you almost all that is amusing or 
instructive in the childhood of Christina. Only a few 
more words need be said about her ; for it is neither 
pleasant nor profitable to think of many things that she 
did after she grew to be a woman. 

When she had worn the crown a few years, she began 
to consider it beneath her dignity to be called a queen, 
because the name implied that she belonged to the 
weaker sex. She therefore caused herself to be pro- 
claimed king ; thus declaring to the world that she de- 
spised her own sex and was desirous of being ranked 
among men. But in the twenty-eighth year of her age 
Christina grew tired of royalty, and resolved to be neither 
a king nor a queen 'any longer. She took the crown 
from her head with her own hands, and ceased to be the 
ruler of Sweden. The people did not greatly regret her 
abdication ; for she had governed them ill, and had taken 
much of their property to supply her extravagance. 

Having thus given up her hereditary crown, Christina 
left Sweden and travelled over many of the countries of 
Europe. Everywhere she was received with great cere- 
mony, because she was the daughter of the renowned 
Gustavus, and had herself been a powerful queen. Per- 
haps you would like to know something about her per- 
sonal appearance irL the latter part of her life. She is 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


u 

described as wearing a man’s vest, a short gray petticoat, 
embroidered with gold and silver, and a black wig, which 
was thrust awry upon her head. She wore no gloves, 
and so seldom washed her hands that nobody could tell 
what had been their original color. In this strange dress, 
and, I suppose, without washing her hands or face, she 
visited the magnificent court of Louis XIY. 

She died in 1689. None loved her while she lived, 
nor regretted her death, nor planted a single flower upon 
her grave. Happy are the little girls of America, who 
are brought up quietly and tenderly at the domestic 
hearth, and thus become gentle and delicate women ! 
May none of them ever lose the loveliness of their sex by 
receiving such an education as that of Queen Christina ! 

Emily, timid, quiet, and sensitive, was the very reverse 
of little Christina. She seemed shocked at the idea of 
such a bold and masculine character as has been described 
in the foregoing story. 

“I never could have loved her,” whispered she to 
Mrs. Temple; and then she added, with that love of 
personal neatness which generally accompanies purity of 
heart, “ It troubles me to think of her unclean hands ! ” 

tf Christina was a sad specimen of womankind indeed,” 
said Mrs. Temple. “ But it is very possible for a woman 
to have a strong mind, and to be fitted for the active 
business of life, without losing any of her natural del- 
icacy. Perhaps some time or other Mr. Temple will tell 
you a story of such a woman.” 

It was now time for Edward to be left to repose. His 
brother George shook him heartily by the hand, and 
hoped, as he had hoped twenty times before, that to-mor- 
row or the next day Ned’s eyes would be strong enough 
to look the sun right in the face. 


BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 


“ Thank you, George,” replied Edward, smiling ; “ but 
I am not half so impatient as at first. If my bodily eye- 
sight were as good as yours, perhaps I could not see 
things so distinctly with my mind’s eye. But now there 
is a light within which shows me the little Quaker artist, 
Ben West, and Isaac Newton with his windmill, and 
stubborn Sam Johnson, and stout Noll Cromwell, and 
shrewd Ben Franklin, and little Queen Christina, with 
the Swedes kneeling at her feet. It seems as if I really 
saw these personages face to face. So I can bear the 
darkness outside of me pretty well.” 

When Edward ceased speaking, Emily put up her 
mouth and kissed him as her farewell for the night. 

“ Ah, I forgot ! ” said Edward, with a sigh. “ I can- 
not see any of your faces. What would it signify to see 
all the famous people in the world, if I must be blind to 
the faces that I love ? ” 

“ You must try to see us with your heart, my dear 
child,” said his mother. 

Edward went to bed somewhat dispirited ; but, quickly 
falling asleep, was visited with such a pleasant dream of 
the sunshine and of his dearest friends that he felt the 
happier for it all the next day. And we hope to find him 
still happy when we meet again. 



QUESTIONS. 


BENJAMIN WEST. 

When and where was Benjamin West born ? What was the 
religion of his parents ? What was prophesied of him ? 

What did he do when he was seven years old, that showed 
his natural bent ? Where did he get his first paints and paint- 
brushes ? What three colors did he have at first, and how did 
he manufacture green ? 

Describe Mr. Pennington’s visit. How did Benjamin West 
discover the principle of the camera-obscura? 

What is said about Benjamin’s becoming a painter by pro- 
fession? Where did he study ? 

Where did he establish himself as an artist, at the age of 
twenty-five years? What honors did he receive? Mention 
some of his important works. 

What good work was done by his picture called, “ Christ 
Healing the Sick” ? When did Benjamin West die ? 

SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 

When and where was Isaac Newton born, and when did he 
die ? Under whose care was he until he was fourteen vears old ? 

Mention some of the things which Sir Isaac Newton made 
when a boy. What method did he take for finding out the 
strength of the wind ? 

What did he do for a year or two after his mother’s second 
husband died? Where was he sent after this? What two 
great discoveries did Sir Isaac Newton make ? 

What is the story of Newton and his dog Diamond? What 
honors were given to Newton ? What did he say of himself ? 

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

When was Samuel Johnson born? What was his father’s 
name and occupation ? Describe Samuel Johnson’s appearance. 
Describe an act of disobedience on his part in his boyhood. 


2 


QUESTIONS. 


Where was Johnson educated? What was the greatest under- 
taking of his life? Mention three of his other works. What is 
said of the homage received by him? When did he die ? 

OLIVER CROMWELL. 

When was Oliver Cromwell born and when did he die ? What 
story is told of his childish quarrel with Prince Charles? Tell 
what you know of his life. 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

When and where was Benjamin Franklin born? What was 
his father’s trade ? What is said of Ben at his book and at 
play? How old was he when he left school, and what did he 
then do? 

Give the story of the building of the wharf. What was Ben’s 
excuse for stealing the stones, and what was his father’s an- 
swer ? 

In what business, and why was he bound apprentice? What 
is said of his doings as an apprentice? 

Why did he go to Philadelphia? What is said of his arrival ? 

What did more than anything else to make Franklin famil- 
iarly known to the public? When did Franklin die? 

QUEEN CHRISTINA. 

Who was King of Sweden in 1626 ? What was he called, and 
why ? How were the Swedes looked upon during his reign ? 

When was his daughter Christina born, and what is said of 
her earh r childhood? 

How did she act, when two years old, at the fortress of Cai- 
man ? How did Gustavus determine to educate her ? 

Where was the King summoned when Christina was four 
years old? What is said of his departure? 

What news came to Sweden after the King had been gone 
two years ? 

Describe Christina’s coronation. How was the country 
governed until she was eighteen years old ? What was her 
character then, and how did she dress ? 

What did Queen Christina do in her twenty-eighth year? 
How did she spend the rest of her life ? When did she die ? 


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